


Draw the Veil

by featheredschist



Category: Marvel (Comics), The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Angst, Canon Typical Violence, Child Abandonment, Drama, Graphic Description, Medical Inaccuracies, Multi, Romance, Violence, veterinary inaccuracies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-03
Updated: 2015-05-07
Packaged: 2017-11-28 02:36:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 31,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/669269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/featheredschist/pseuds/featheredschist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life and times of shapeshifter Avengers.</p><p>(This summary sucks! I will change it when I have something better.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This is very much an AU story – supernatural in nature, though not connected to the show of the same name. Some humans are shapeshifters. The story is one with no Hulk, but a very smart Bruce (think comics type, from Planet Hulk, forward). Clint normally has blue eyes, but they just don't work for a hawk, so I gave him blue-amber ones; a touch weird, but that's the fun of writing AU! I rightly pin the 'blame' on sussing out Bruce's techno-gadgets on Determamfidd, she of the Hulk Knowledge. Thanks lady! See the bottom for more notes. Own nothing recognizable but my plot, the powers for the shifters, and the crazies.

He woke, mind groggy, senses slow. He lay on the dirt floor of a cave, where he always ended up after his changes. That was good. Before he opened his eyes, he mentally took stock of his physical condition. Slowly tensing and releasing muscles up and down his long limbs, he was able to confirm the proper working order of his body, with no outstanding injuries and no lingering soreness or stiffness from his time as his other self. Once this was done, he relaxed, breathing into a meditative trance, in no hurry to leave.

Shortly, there was a scrabbling at the entrance to the cave that had the man tensing, ready to defend himself...except...  
  
“Banner, you're a difficult man to find sometimes,” came a voice he knew very well. A warm, loving voice.  
  
He huffed a laugh, sitting up, opening chocolate brown eyes to take in the sight of his old friend, and occasional lover, Clint Barton, the Amazing Hawkeye, lately of SHIELD. An average man, sandy blond hair shot through with darker streaks and glowing, blue-amber eyes. As marks of their animal sides went, it was striking on him.  
  
“That's the point of a retreat, Barton. Social animal like you wouldn't know the meaning of need to center oneself,” Banner retorted, pulling himself into a cross-legged position, back against the smooth rock wall. He'd spent enough breaks from his work as a professor there to appreciate some creature comforts as smooth walls, and he'd put in the work to guarantee it.  
  
“Introvert,” Clint said, with affection, settling on his haunches beside his friend. They shared a smile.  
  
“So what does SHIELD's best marksman want with UC Berkeley's third best professor of nuclear physics on this fine April day?”, Banner got to the point. Something Clint always appreciated about the man.  
  
“SHIELD needs you, Bruce. There's been a nuke scare. Cropped up on our terrorism nets. Coulson would like you to come in and see if you can figure anything out,” Clint explained, head low, not meeting Bruce's eyes. It had nothing to do with the fact that Bruce was more of an apex predator than himself, nor did it have anything to do with shame at ruining the man's vacation. He just hated being the bearer of bad news to people he cared about.  
  
“Damn. You're certain?” Bruce asked, growling in trepidation. He knew this was likely to get ugly, fast.  
  
“As certain as we can be.” Clint couldn't reveal more, and Bruce knew why. Their location was under a camp ground, and any sounds within carried. The place was largely left alone because the park ranger for that area was a fellow shifter he'd reached an agreement with. That ranger kept his cave protected from hikers and campers, allowing Bruce to store bits of gear in the far back portion of the cave system he'd claimed for his quarterly retreats.  
  
“All right. Let me clean up the place. We'll need to call the Dean along the way so my classes get handled,” Bruce agreed, surging up to his feet, briefly looming over the other man. Some animals took this as a threat, Clint simply sat, waiting for Bruce to move. They had too much history together for dominance displays like the young bucks engaged in.  
  
“Need me to do anything?” Clint offered, looking up at the burly, half naked physicist. He appreciated Bruce's body without being too obvious about it. The bear scientist took good care of himself, was trim, and toned without looking like a steroid jock. His torso was covered in dark hair, and the mop on top of his head was all fluffy curls and salt and pepper color. Bruce gave a lopsided grin to the archer, knowing he was being checked out.  
  
“Go find Jimmy, tell him I'm leaving early. This time of day, he's probably in the south meadow, scaring kids,” Bruce told him, smoothly moving to the back of the cave, where the system of tunnels disappeared into the murky gloom.  
  
“Right, be back shortly,” Clint said, jumping to his feet. He never landed, instead, blurring into his bird form and flapping strong, brown feathered wings to grab air outside the mouth of the cave to head for open sky.  
  
“Show off,” Bruce called, getting a sharp shriek that was almost laughter in return. Bruce chuckled, turning back to put up his supplies and cover the whole with the dark camouflage netting. He grabbed the pack he'd hiked in with, fished out a clean shirt, and tugged it on over his broad, barrel chest. Slipping his wide feet into his sandals, he got moving, knowing to meet Clint at the closest parking lot.

He found Clint leaning against the hood of a powder blue, '67 Mustang convertible, sunglasses wrapped around his face.  
  
“Huh, pulled the 'stang out of mothballs just for me?” Bruce leered as he approached the other man.  
  
“As if. Get your dusty ass over here, fur ball. We need to be in Pismo Beach by 10am tomorrow,” Clint moved from the hood to the driver's side of the car, sliding neatly into place behind the wheel. Bruce threw his pack into the open back seat and climbed into the passenger seat, settling onto the cream colored leather with a sigh. Clint peeled out of the lot, startling a family repacking their van, making Bruce laugh. The deep, free sound made Clint smile as he shifted the car onto the highway and into high gear for decent cruising speed.

 

They traveled in companionable silence for a couple of hours, just letting the road speak to them, the wind rush past. Dinner was a stop at a truck dive, tucked into a back booth where Clint could keep his eyes on everyone and everything. Something Bruce was intimately familiar with, in regards to his hawk.  
  
“So, how's Nat?” Bruce asked over a BLT and bowl of chili.  
  
“Fine, on separate assignment,” Clint answered, swallowing a bit of his fried chicken.  
  
“Oh? Damn. Hoped it'd be 'old home week' for us. Well, never mind, we'll have to arrange something later,” Bruce said, take a bite of whole wheat, lettuce, tomato and bacon.  
  
“We might get to see her, depends. Her assignment is Stark.” Bruce's eyes went large in his surprise and he nearly choked on the food he was trying to swallow.  
  
“Really? The billionaire industrialist? Damn curious now, feather brain.”  
  
“Aren't you in luck, we're heading into some rough weather then?” And Bruce grinned, blunt white teeth showing. That was old code for the need to talk openly, which meant the roof would be up on the 'stang. It really meant nothing, but in the old days, needing that privacy was such a luxury, and they had to create something for themselves.  
They finished dinner, making time for dessert to compensate for their higher than average metabolisms, and got back on the road, the blaze of the setting sun on their right as they drove southward. With the top up, Clint plugged an iPod into the custom stereo and found the jazz they both liked.  
  
“So, Nat's with Stark,” Bruce opened with, leaning his head back, but keeping his eyes on Clint as he drove. The shadows that played across the other man's face highlighted the planes of his angular cheeks and chin.  
  
“Yup. Fury wants to see what he's like since his kidnapping.”  
  
“Ugh, read about that. Nasty business. What's Fury going to do with him?”  
  
“Consultant work,” Clint shrugged.  
  
“Thought he was out of the weapons business?” Bruce mused, tapping a finger against his chin as he thought back to that long ago article.  
  
“Dunno. Coulson won't talk about it. This other business though...” Clint trails off.  
  
“Yes, how do you know about a possible nuke?”  
  
“Seat pocket behind me,” Clint said. Bruce reached for the flap on the back of the bucket seat, and found a manila envelope. Drawing it into his lap, he next reached for his bag and rummaged for the small flashlight he carries for emergencies. He flicked it on and opened the envelope to pull out several reports. A summary sheet on top gave Bruce some details. He read.  
  
“Analysts discovered a cache of radium missing from Arco, NM*. Protests by Children of St Michael noted in the area 2 days prior. Hmpf, them again,” Clint grunted agreement. Bruce read on, “Unspecified threat received by Secret Service regarding Presidential trip to Thailand. SHIELD asked to investigate.”  
  
“Doesn't sound like much, does it?” Clint said when Bruce reached the end of the summary. Bruce sighed, scrubbing a hand over his fluffy, curly hair as he thought.  
  
“The radium alone is cause for concern. Who else knows it's missing?” Bruce wondered out loud.  
  
“Fifth report,” was his answer. Bruce shuffled papers, drawing out the one indicated and skimming the information it contained. The beam of light stayed steady as he read. Apparently several alphabet soup groups knew the material was missing, but SHIELD (re: Fury) had wrangled the job under their auspices. Bruce hummed, considering.  
  
“Well, I guess we'll see when we get there, but too many opportunities here for everything to go tits up, you know that.”  
  
Clint rolled his eyes, “Coulson is having kittens because of that report.”  
  
“I can imagine. Loose lips and all that government crap.” They laugh and Bruce continued reading more of the main report.

 

It didn't take him long and he was able to soon switch off the small flashlight. Clint hadn't complained, but it was easier for him without the light. Another hour passed, and Bruce could tell Clint needed to rest.  
  
“Hey, bird boy,” he called across the soft sounds of Duke Ellington.  
  
“Huh?” Clint grunted, zoned out.  
  
“Either pull over so we can sleep, or let me drive. I think you need it,” Bruce suggested.  
  
“Hm, it's a thought, I guess. Where are we?” Clint handed Bruce his phone to try and figure out their location.  
  
“No need man. I know where we are. Here, take the next exit, it'll send us to Hollister. I can make a pit stop,” he grinned manically, almost overeager at the idea. Clint rolled his eyes again, and laughs, but takes the physicist's directions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just some minor clean up going on, please don't worry that anything significant has changed. I wouldn't do that to folks.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Welcome back! Still just building Stark Towers in the sand. Do not own, certainly not worth suing. Let's go play. WARNINGS: NSFW, my first attempt at a sexual encounter in print, I hope you'll be kind.

Hollister is a sleepy little town, dependent on tourism, and agriculture. Bruce had chosen it as an ideal site to stash his laboratory outside of school. He had built a Quonset several miles outside of town, and then a small, modular home beside it. He'd tucked both into the scrub, and had several acres of decent grazing land he rented to local cattlemen. Clint appreciated the trees, they offered a variety of high perches he could use if the situation ever warranted.

“We can stay tonight, and I can get a few things from the lab in the morning,” Bruce told him as they pulled up the gravel drive.  
“Sounds good. One less thing on the expense report and Fury's happy,” Clint quipped, putting the Mustang in park, and turning off the engine.  
  
“Only one issue, guest room isn't set up. And the couch is lumpy,” Bruce said, getting out of the car. He reached into the back seat for his bag, then headed for the front door.  
  
“Unless something's changed between us, Banner?” Clint replied, going into the trunk for his own go bag, and bow case with quiver. He never went without, even though he carried smaller weapons stashed about his person. Bruce laughed, and opened the front door, inviting the archer inside.

“Welcome home, Bruce,” came the soft, lilting voice of his command AI.  
  
“It is good to be home, Greta,” he announced to the open room. Lights came on with his words, acknowledging his presence.  
  
“You finished her programming?” Clint asked, astounded. He looked over the room, only seeing an average living space, with a couch, couple of arm chairs and a few scattered tables on a hardwood floor. Bruce's wide, open smile served as his answer.  
  
“C'mon, let's not stand in the doorway. Greta hates bugs,” Bruce waved the archer inside.

“May we be of assistance, Bruce?” Greta asked, as the door closed automatically behind Clint. A soft 'click' signaled the lock engaging.  
  
“We're just staying the night, Greta. What supplies are laid in for breakfast?” Bruce queried. He usually called ahead, but hadn't had opportunity this trip.  
  
“Unfortunately sir, just your usual powdered and dry supplies. And a request from town won't reach here before noon.” The AI's measured cadence was very soothing on the ears, Clint thought as he took in more details of the open floor plan. He could see the kitchen, separated by a dining bar, shining in its chrome appointments, set off by the warm, honey oak cabinetry. There were three darkened doorways into presumably other rooms, and one sliding glass door directly across from the front door, leading to the outside.  
  
“I could hunt in the morning?” Clint offered. He wasn't sure what was available for food, but could probably find something. He leaned against the buff colored wall to unlace his boots and shake them off. Bruce toed out of his sandals as well before moving into the main room.  
  
Bruce rumbled, thinking. “There's not but scrub rabbits. Enough for you, I suspect,” he replied.  
  
“Hm, you did eat lightly at dinner. Protein shake going to be enough?” Clint teased, a soft light in his eyes, following Bruce.  
  
Bruce's answering grin gave Clint a bare second's start. “Maybe, but I can always dine on stuffed pheasant!” and Bruce chased him deeper into the house. Clint bolted, looking for a perch to elude his large friend.

He cornered Clint in the master bedroom, decorated to resemble something of a cave, painted with dark grays and browns, with muted, midnight blues for contrast in the fabrics. The hawk perched on the bed, panting a little from the short burst of energy. It was his last, as tired as he was.  
  
“That came outta nowhere,” he gasped, trying to calm his racing heart.  
  
“Was saving that up, for a more appropriate time,” Bruce quipped, moving slowly, and with exaggerated care towards the bed. His wide, strong hands were outstretched before him, as though he hoped to hold Clint in place.  
  
“Oh really?” Clint wondered, quickly licking his lips in anticipation. Bruce stared at the tip of his tongue as it swept over the plump bow of pink flesh.  
  
“Yes really,” Bruce whispered, crawling up on to the bed, and pinning the other man in place against the headboard as he advanced up the archer hawk's body to claim his lips in a searing kiss.  
  
“Missed you,” he mumbled, plundering his way into Clint's mouth. Clint groaned, bringing his hands up to grasp Bruce around the shoulders, tugging him closer.  
  
“Missed...you,” he panted back when Bruce pulled a little back to give them breathing room.  
  
“Bath?” Bruce suggested, a quirk to his lips as he surveyed Clint's blown pupils and kiss reddened lips.  
  
“Hm, yes. Good idea,” Clint murmured huskily. He followed Bruce out of the bed and across the room to a darker entryway.

A soft light rose up this room, giving the area a gentle glow of late afternoon, or early evening, a rosy, golden light. It revealed an intriguing effect built into the room. The functional pieces of the bathroom flowed in natural curves and were hidden with paneling and hanging vines, giving an overall effect of a forest grotto. The tub was huge, formed from a concrete mold to resemble a shallow pool. Easily 7 feet up along one side was a pair of waterfall shower heads that poured water into the pool. The 'ugly' concrete form had been patterned to resemble pebbles and sand along the bottom. It had been stained in earth colors: lots of browns, greens and grays, making it appear part of a forest floor. The whole room looked like heaven to Clint.

Both men shed their clothes shortly after Bruce turned on the hidden taps to fill the pool with hot tub temperature water. He looked at Clint, appreciating the other man's trim, and toned body, before climbing into the tub.  
“Up to you if you want a shower, or just relax in the bath. I'm for relaxing,” he said, settling into the warmth of the 4' deep tub with a groan. Clint slid noiselessly in beside him.  
  
“This is a beautiful place,” he softly said, coming over to lean on Bruce's broad shoulder. Bruce pulled the other man in close, letting Clint snuggled Both were tactile creatures, appreciating close contact just for the sake of touching. They sighed together, content in the silence. Until Clint decided they needed to pick up where they'd left off in the bedroom.

Under the water, he drifted his hand across Bruce's nearest thigh, not quite touching, but definitely making his intentions known by directing little eddies across the bear's lap. Bruce relaxed his legs a bit and began trailing his own hand up and down Clint's spine, rubbing lightly. Clint moved his hand towards his prize, Bruce's half hard cock, and lightly played with it, quickly bringing the physicist to full arousal. They turned their heads to face each other, claiming parted lips in a small dance of dominance through kisses.  
  
“You had to go teach,” Clint mock complained, even as he continued stroking Bruce below the water line.  
  
“SHIELD,” Bruce panted, attempting to control some of his reactions, “does not have enough work for me.” He claimed more kisses before trailing them across Clint's jaw and down his neck. He returned the pleasure of the attention to his partner's own hard cock. Soft grunts and groans of pleasure filled the grotto bath as they torturously teased each other to completion. One last, deep, lingering kiss as they came down from the endorphin high, and they went back to relaxing, and eventually, mutual bathing.

Bruce gave Clint a massage while soaping him up, turning the man's muscles to mush. He paid special attention to the archer's arms, working small sections at a time between his agile hands.  
  
“You flew too much,” he admonished, working over Clint's right elbow.  
  
“New drills. Bosses want us able to do stunt maneuvers on the wing,” Clint sleepily mumbled.  
  
“Hm. They need shifters in their management ranks. Coulson can only do so much for everyone,” Bruce grumbled. He hated the idea of the other shifters potentially being overworked, or even abused in some Agent's idea of training their “pet animals” to be better weapons.  
  
“Don't fuss, not right now. Please?” Clint requested. He was happy, and sleepy, and didn't want to ruin more of the mood by getting into a discussion about SHIELD with his lover.  
  
“Okay,” Bruce allowed, giving Clint a soft kiss in apology. “Let's go to bed, hm? Tomorrow will probably be a long day,” he stood, water sheeting off the hard planes of muscles of his body. He extended a hand to Clint, pulling the younger man up beside him. Clint leaned on Bruce to get out of the tub safely, not being used to using it.  
Bruce handed him an oversized, warm towel and had one for himself. They quickly dried off and returned to the bedroom to crawl between the sheets of the California king bed. They curled around each other and quickly fell into sleep.

Only a few hours later, Bruce was awake again, getting by on power naps more than solid sleep. He quietly watched Clint for a few minutes. The younger man was perfectly relaxed and deeply asleep, trusting in Bruce's presence to keep him safe. It comforted Bruce to know he fostered such trust. They weren't often able to get together, with Clint's job, but did as they could, and enjoyed their precious time together. He caressed the archer's face with the tips of his blunt fingers before leaving the hawk curled in bed.  
  
He went to his dresser to grab a pair of soft, jersey, drawstring pants to wear, as he headed out to his lab. “Greta, please keep an eye on Clint and let me know when he begins to stir,” he requested of his AI as he strolled through the house.  
  
“Of course, Bruce. Shall I start the kettle?”, she replied in her artificially accented voice.  
  
“Please. I'll be there shortly.” Bruce found the pile of community newspapers he couldn't convince the town to stop sending. Those went to the recycling bin. He checked the answering machine, but knew it was empty. Greta forwarded important called to him and deleted unimportant ones. Housework dealt with, he moved to the sliding door and unlocked it. He slid the door open soundlessly on its track and stepped out into the predawn air.  
  
Bruce went into his lab, accepting the cup of hot Darjeeling one of the robotic arms held for him. “Thanks,” he said, absentmindedly. “Greta, need to pack for an extended trip away. What do you think I should take?”, he asked his lab in general, settling on a stool beside a cluttered desk. They spent the next two hours discussing and deciding on different bits of tech Bruce could take with him. He was able to back a satchel with a few of the more portable bits before Greta told him Clint was waking up.

He went back to the house, and the bedroom, where a sleepy archer blinked at him. “It's early, we don't need to be moving for at least another 3 hours,” Clint grumbled.  
  
“I know, just had to take care of a few things,” Bruce said, a touch mysterious, as he climbed back into bed to cuddle with the hawk.  
  
“Hmpf,” Clint grunted, wrapping Bruce in his embrace and nuzzling his neck before sighing deeply and falling back to sleep.  
  
“Greta, alarm for 2.5 hours please,” Bruce requested, settling deep into the mattress and Clint's hold before yawning and going back to sleep. A soft beep was all the answer he got.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Still don't own. Still very AU. Very slow build!

After the alarm went off a couple hours later, they dressed and headed into town for breakfast at the local diner. Bruce had a huge stack of pancakes, with an overstuffed omelet and 3 meats before him. Clint was busy making in roads on an order of steak and eggs. Coffee was ignored in favor of iced tea and orange juice. They were largely ignored by the rest of the diners and the staff, but there was one interruption from a farmer.  
  
“Doc Banner?” an older man in patched overalls came up to their table. Clint realized the man was all human.  
  
“Morning, Hamish. What can I do for you?” Bruce responded, sipping his tea, and gazing at the man in a languid fashion.  
  
“Doc, it's nearly time to get with the ranchers over this year's water rights,” Hamish answered. He really didn't want to be there, but the farmers needed to know that Bruce had gotten the reminders.  
  
“Ah yes. I got the email notifications from the town council, and the Farm Bureau. I'm not sure my current business will allow me to return in time, Hamish. But have Katie email me with whatever changes both groups think are necessary. Though I can't think I need to change anything,” Bruce informed the farmer. He managed to reasssure the old man with his words though.  
  
“I understand, Doc. I'll make sure the others know. Thank you for your time. Pardon the intrusion,” Hamish almost gave a bow before he slipped away.  
  
“Water rights?” Clint asked, curious. He'd remained quiet throughout the exchange.  
  
“I deliberately chose my land because of the aquifers* on site. Several of them feed streams that cross most of the valley. The ranchers use most of the property for grazing and the farms around it get their water from me,” Bruce told him. He forked up some omelet and stuffed it into his mouth and chewed while Clint thought about it.  
  
“Wasn't this all federal land at one point?” Clint wondered.  
  
“It was, about 20 years ago. BLM needed stewards. I wrangled more. It's mine, free and clear. Though I 'rent' the water out,” Bruce confirmed.  
  
“Not bad. How big is the place?” Clint whistled his appreciation.  
  
“'Bout 5 miles on a side, as the hawk flies,” was the offhand reply, as they finished up. Clint laughed. They left enough cash to cover the bill before rising to leave and head ingfor the Mustang. Bruce kept checking his satchel that he refused to leave in the car. He thought he'd have to test that theory next time they came through. 

 

The trip to Pismo Beach was uneventful after that. Just a pleasant morning's drive along the California coast. They arrived at the SHIELD offices a good hour before Clint's requirement, and parked the Mustang in the covered lot beside the building.  
  
“You know, I'm not sure I have my ID with me,” Bruce muttered aloud as they approached the concrete and steel edifice. There was an electronic chirp from his pants pocket. He fished out his black cell phone and thumbed it on. A text from his AI told him to check the pocket of the messenger bag. He did so, finding the laminated, clip on badge he'd been issued years ago as a consultant.  
  
“Ah, thank you Greta,” he quietly said, attaching the badge to a lapel of his button down. His phone chirped again, indicating a new message – Put your earbud in! It said, somehow conveying emphasis  
  
“Yes mom,” he laughed, pushing open a small compartment on the phone to reveal what appeared to be a hearing aid. He plucked it out and inserted it into his left ear.  
  
“All set?” Clint asked, standing quietly beside Bruce as he messed with his AI and his badge. The AI was one of the pinnacles of Bruce's genius, and Clint had open access to a lot of gadgets. But that thing was almost too creepy to deal with, sometimes.  
  
“Yep,” Bruce said, striding forward once more. Clint caught him up at the door, reaching around the professor to pull open the heavy glass and metal monstrosity. Once through the door, Clint moved back to Bruce's side, directing where they needed to go. They breezed past the receptionist/guard, and stopped at the elevators. Clint pushed the UP button, and fidgeted in place, minutely shifting the polo he'd grumbled into that morning. From beside him, Bruce stood unmoving, a half smile on his lips at the antics of the archer.  
  
“Can't be still, can you?” he quietly asked his friend.  
  
Clint snickered and shook his head, “Only as required by the job.”

They didn't speak again until they arrived on the 8th floor, and were confronted by extra security. Clint grunted in surprise while Bruce blinked owlishly at the two guards' requests for their IDs. There was a shifter in his animal form with them, but the Doberman ignored them, knowing Clint by sight, and Bruce by scent and history. One of the non-shifter guards closely inspected their IDs while the other called Agent Coulson to confirm their presence on the Agent floor. Clint rolled his eyes at Bruce for this new wrinkle, making Bruce duck his head to hide the uptick in the corner of his mouth. They were finally permitted to leave the foyer and make their way to Coulson's borrowed office.  
Clint didn't bother knocking on the otherwise open door, but began picking on his handler just as he crossed the threshold.  
“What's up with the goons at the gate, Coulson? Something make Hill all twitchy?” he snarked, coming to a stop at one of the stiff backed chairs on the outside of the black metal desk that squatted in the middle of the room.  
  
  
“That was installed this morning, just to aggravate you, Barton,” Coulson fired back, not even glancing up from whatever held his attention on the desktop.  
  
“Agent Coulson,” Bruce interrupted Clint's next volley, preferring to get a move on with his visit.  
  
“Doctor Banner, thank you for coming. Have a seat. Barton, the door,” Coulson looked up at the physicist, assessing him.  
Bruce calmly stared back, unflinching under the weight of Coulson's stare. They did this every time they saw each other, trying to psych each other out, and assess if the other was taking care of Clint. If it were possible, Coulson appeared to be making a display on a claimed shifter. Clint used his foot to knock the door shut and then claimed his chair. Bruce slid into the other chair, having reached a detente with Coulson, again. Truly, Clint was in good hands as long as Coulson was his handler, and Bruce accepted that.  
  
Coulson pulled a file folder from the stack of manila beside his keyboard and handed it over to Bruce. “Updates on what Barton gave you. We'll be leaving for the helicarrier tonight,” he informed the both of them.  
  
“Helicarrier's where?” Clint wanted to know.  
  
“New York still. Fury's been dealing with UN Security matters for the last month,” Coulson replied evenly.  
  
“Poor bastard. All right, we'll be back at 5 then,” Clint moved to stand back up.  
  
“I need the good doctor to stay behind for the usual consultant paperwork,” Coulson reminded them. Clint nodded, unhappy. Bruce looked resigned. It didn't matter if a month, or a year passed between his 'consults', they always made him fill out the blasted paperwork. Phil Coulson surprised him this time, handing over a stack of already filled out forms. Bruce looked for a pen in the clutter before him.  
  
“Just initial and sign as indicated, Doctor. At this point, we figure eveything's the same,” Coulson had a small smile on his face in response to Bruce's obvious surprise.  
  
“Great!” Clint said, happy to not end up wasting an hour to boring paperwork. Bruce smiled and quickly scanned the forms. Nothing needed changing, so he was able to get through all 15 pages in 10 minutes.  
  
“At least that is more efficient. My thanks, Coulson,” Bruce said, handing back the stack and pen. Coulson merely nodded and dismissed them.  
  
“Ya know, we should head to the range, make sure your proficiency is still where it ought to be,” Clint suggested as they headed back to the elevators.  
  
“Hm, if you insist. Then perhaps I might have something for you,” Bruce responded. They passed the guards, and Bruce reached out to pet the Doberman shifter.  
  
“Hey Tommy, how goes?” he spoke in an undertone, truly only meant for the shifter's sharp ears. The guards took offense to their dog being manhandled. One got right in Bruce's personal space, kneeing the dog out of the way, making him yelp.  
  
“Get away from the dog, freak!” the guard snarled, pushing Bruce back against the wall.  
  
“Whoa man, chill. The dog's one of us,” Clint tried to diffuse the situation, tried stepping between the two combatants. The other guard grabbed the archer by the shoulder and spun him around.  
  
“Ain't none of your concern, freak,” this guard's voice lacked inflection, completely toneless. He threw a punch at Clint's head. He blocked it, grabbed the guy's wrist and pinned his arm behind his back.  
  
“Look, we don't want,” the archer began to explain. The guard bucked his body off the wall and freed his arm with a great wrenching motion. He spun back on Clint, and attempted to sweep the hawk's legs from under him. The first meathead was trying to pin Bruce to the other wall, but Bruce just kept moving, bobbing and weaving as he ducked the burly man's clumsy strikes. Tommy, the dog shifter, hightailed it for Coulson's office, barking. He shifted to give the Agent a quick sitrep and then ran after Coulson back to the elevator.

“Hey!”, Coulson yelled, gaining everyone's attention. “Stop this nonsense, immediately!”  
  
Clint and Bruce pulled back, moving easily towards Coulson. Tommy paused behind the agent, content to watch. The two guard had been dropped to the floor, both with visible injuries, a pair of broken noses. Clint swiped a hand at his mouth, where his opponent had managed a lucky shot through his guard. Bruce fished into his messenger bag, and pulled out a handkerchief and wet wipe, handing both over.  
  
Coulson observed both pairs as he finished approaching, his eyes a glittery, icy blue, promising a world of pain for someone. “Now,” he said, voice soft, yet hard, “Someone explain to me exactly what happened here?” He caught the eyes of each fighter. The two guards remained stubbornly silent. “Specialist Regan?” Coulson queried, knowing the shifter was behind him.  
  
“Yes sir?” Tommy responded immediately.  
  
“Please call for some medics to attend these fools while I talk with Dr. Banner and Specialist Barton over here,” Coulson requested.  
  
“At once sir,” and Tommy grabbed the mike off one of the guards to do exactly that. He couldn't keep the growl out of his voice though, and hoped it only conveyed a sense of urgency to the medics.  
  
Coulson waved the pair of shifters deeper into the hall to speak quietly.  
  
“All right,” he sighed, “What happened out there?”  
  
Bruce took the lead, it was, after all, his 'fault'. “I stopped to say hello to Specialist Regan. The guards took offense to that, to the point of calling us,” he indicated Clint beside him, “Freaks. They were throwing punches and otherwise attempting to detain us for some unspecified reason,” Bruce finished explaining.  
  
“Do you concur, Specialist Barton?” Coulson asked his asset, eyes taking in a blooming bruise on the other man's jaw. Clint nodded.  
  
“Specialist Regan?” Coulson asked the other shifter, knowing they'd been overhead.  
  
“That's what happened, sir. I got pushed out of the way, and one of my feet stepped on,” Tommy added.  
  
Coulson sighed, “We'll need to call Agent Thomlinson then. And whomever is in charge of the guards here. The three of you get to the excuse of Medical they have before doing anything else today. Regan, you have the rest of the day off. Thank you gentlemen.”   
All three men disappeared as soon as Phil stopped speaking, electing to head for the stairs rather than wade through the jumble of medics, guards, and agents. Phil turned back to the foyer, rubbed his forehead once, and waded in, getting to work.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Still building Helicarriers in the sand. Do not own, please don't sue.

The medical check up cleared all 3 shifters quickly, finding no damage that would require care. They quickly left the section.

“Tommy, I 'm sorry,” Bruce apologized, as they left Medical, avoiding the appearance of the guards and the Agents with them.

“Hey, Banner, it's good, really,” Tommy replied quietly, shaking his head. He'd had problems with those two before.

“You want to grab lunch, man?” Clint offered, quickly confirming with Bruce that the invite was okay with him. The half grin he got in reply reassured him.

“I'm not intruding?” Tommy wondered, flicking his gaze between the other two. Most of the shifters in SHIELD's employ knew that this pair was together.

“Nah, you go change, we'll meet you upstairs in 10,” Clint said, giving the other shifter a nudge in the shoulder. Tommy grinned, all teeth and jogged off to head for the locker rooms and a set of civvies.

Bruce took a moment after he'd left to brush Clint up against the nearest alcove and held him there with his bulk. “Damn it Clint, you know I don't sign on for this nonsense. SHIELD is supposed to be safe,” he growled, pinning the man with his hard, brown gaze as well as his not insignificant weight.

“I know, Bruce. This was,” Clint dropped his head onto the other man's shoulder. He had no words for what this was. Other than wrong. Bruce leaned forward and breathed Clint's scent, settling his nerves and tamping down on his desire to go and further rough up the two guards. Clint stood and accepted that Bruce needed to reassure himself. Bruce huffed a little, and softly growled, nudging his face into the join of Clint's neck and shoulder.

“We're fine, big guy, really,” Clint whispered, nudging his nose up by Bruce's ear. Bruce nodded, stepping back.  
They started walking again, heading towards the reception area.

“How many shifters are based here?” Bruce wanted to know after they had gone on for a few feet.

“Not sure. We're usually based in San Francisco or Los Angeles if we're in California at all. This is a small office, mostly analysts I think,” Clint didn't know much about the office they were in. He'd wondered why Coulson hadn't settled for San Francisco when the decision had been made to request Bruce's assistance, but never asked.

“Do you think the attitude is prevalent? It might be something to talk to Coulson and this Thomlinson about,” Bruce continued, an idea forming in his head. He rummaged in his bag and pulled out a tablet to scrawl a note to Greta.

Clint could only shrug, he was never bothered by anyone who had problems with shifters. It could be a thing, but he didn't want to think too deeply about it, not yet, not with a new mission before him.

 

The wait for Tommy Regan was short, and the trio of shifters signed out of the building and headed for Clint's car to argue over a good spot for lunch.

“Trust me guys, this is the place,” Tommy informed the others when they pulled up in front of an old buffet diner.

“Man, I hope so. Can hear someone's stomach from here!” Clint harassed. Bruce laughed and climbed out of the back seat. He'd ceded gunshot since Tommy knew his way around town. They walked into the place and Clint and Bruce were immediately aware of why the place was perfect.

Aside from being stocked like a Vegas buffet, mountains of food nearly as far as the eye could see in the middle of the restaurant, the place clearly stank of shifters. Most of the clientele appeared to be shifters, but the overwhelming aura had to come from...

“The owners,” Tommy admitted, laughing at their poleaxed expressions. “Sara! Brought two more!” he called to someone in the distance. Clint caught sight of a woman wearing jeans and a soft, blue sweater, who turned in their direction.

“Seat yourself, Tom!” an older, female voice responded. He waved the other two to a corner booth. Bruce slid in first, letting himself be bracketed by Clint, who always needed to keep an eye on a new place. Tommy shook his head, settling across from them. He'd not ever convince them to relax.  
The older woman Clint had seen earlier appeared seconds later, iron gray hair in a fashionable bob cut, framing a slightly wrinkled face. Green eyes peered at them, framed by crow's feet and laugh lines.

“Guys, this is Sara, one half of this place. Sara, my friends, from the Bay Area, Clint and Bruce,” Tommy made introductions. Clint grinned insouciantly at her, the born troublemaker. Bruce just nodded, a soft, teasing smile playing about his lips.

“Ma'am,” Bruce said, voice a warm, rumbly purr.

“Oh ho, you brought me troublemakers today, didn't you Tom?” Sara crowed, laughing. This broke Bruce, who guffawed, leaning into the corner while Clint blushed, the red flooding his face to his hair line. It was only the truth as far as Clint was concerned, even if more than half the time, Bruce enabled or encouraged him.

“They'll behave Sara. I'll tell'em the rules,” Tommy said, chortling.

“You do that, darling. Now, drinks?” Sara wanted to know. The boys ordered tea for themselves, Tommy a diet Coke, and she left them to go fill their plates.

“Rules?” Clint wanted to know before they reached the buffet line.

“Simple really. No shifting, some of the wait staff are norms. Take only what you can eat, and eat like a human.”  
“Ah, no problem,” Clint shrugged and they went off to mull over the offerings.

They dived into home town favorites like chicken fried steak with rice, chicken and dumplings, beef stew and the like. Sara had brought over positively huge glasses of iced tea and diet Coke.

“Damn,” Clint swore, after gulping half of his drink. It was Southern sweet, and he hadn't even specified. “How do we keep her around?”

“Ha! Nope, she, and her mate, stay here. Everett must be at the farm today,” Tommy replied, laughing between bites of sinful fried chicken.

“Farm food? Dear Lord, it's heaven. Gotta wrangle a reassignment, whatcha think Bruce?” Clint mock swooned into Bruce's side, chewing on a piece of his chicken fried steak.

“I can see the appeal,” he teased, glancing at Clint, who just laughed. “Think someone will just to visit more often if they enjoy this place,” Bruce offered, giving Clint a quick kiss on the nose.

“Will have to see what I can arrange then,” Clint agreed, sitting upright to finish his plate.

“You two will make it permanent then?” Tommy wanted to know.

“I think this mission will see us settle that out,” Bruce equivocated. Clint shrugged. They'd tossed the idea back and forth for the last couple of years, but something held them back. The others just knew not to horn in on their pairing, or try to break them up.

“When's the next shifter gather within SHIELD, or at Carson's?” was Tommy's next question. His voice was loaded with worry.

“Not sure about SHIELD. The Carson gather is in June, I think?” Clint lifted one shoulder. He couldn't even swear he'd know exactly where the circus would be then.

“The usual call will go out, right?” Tommy pressed.

“Yep, I'll send it out, if I'm not on a mission,” Clint assured him.

“I'll make sure you know when the gather is, Tommy. I work in Berkeley these days, not for SHIELD,” Bruce offered, putting their empty plates in a stack at the end of the table.

“Is Carson taking on any more kids?” Tommy asked next. Clint and Bruce both froze and looked at the other shifter, trying to determine what was wrong.

“Tommy, what's going on?” Bruce asked quietly.

Tommy looked around the restaurant, saw Sara darting glances their way and waved her over. She nervously sat down next to the guard, hands fidgeting atop the table.

“Guys, we've had a lot of awakenings in the area, recently. Sara and Everett are doing what they can, but these kids need to get out of here,” he explained, voice low and intense.

“Tom's right. For some reason, we have at least 10 kids at the farm now, all newly awakened and scared out of their minds because their families up and turned on 'em. Everett's doing what he can, but he's only one person. You know what it was like, don't you?” Sara pled her case, her eyes threatening tears.

“We can't promise anything right now, Ms. Sara,” Clint began, nervous himself. He didn't want to disappoint these people, but he couldn't make false or empty promises. “Bruce and I are headed east tonight, on a mission that has an indefinite run time on it. Do you understand what that means?” he had to be upfront with her. She shook her head. “We'd be gone anywhere from a few days to a few months. That doesn't help you right now,” Clint explained, and winced as her face fell.

“Wait a moment, Clint,” Bruce broke his silence. Greta had murmured in his ear the beginnings of an idea. He reached for his bag, and pulled out the tablet, thumbing it on.

“Yes, just as Greta mentioned. SHIELD's got several shifter agents on downtime, some medical, others just required. We have an idea,” Bruce looked at the others. Sara and Tommy had cautiously hopeful looks on their faces, and Clint just looked wary. What was Bruce going to get them into?

Clint whispered quietly to the others, “Greta is Bruce's assistant.” He didn't want to expose the AI to outsiders, even if they were shifters.

“Clint, text these agents, ask them if they want to rattle around their barracks or get some REAL rest,” the emphasis was clear, “and help us out in the mean time?” Bruce showed his lover the list of names and Clint pulled out his phone. He quickly assembled the contact list and sent out a short message asking for help. Bruce smiled his thanks then turned back to the tablet.

“Okay, here's the thing. The worst cases ought to go to Carson, the others just need to start over, correct? How old are these kids?” Bruce rattled off, fingers moving fairly quickly over the tablet as he confirmed the nucleus of his mad scheme with his AI.

Sara leaned forward, “Of the 10, three truly need this Carson, if he is what Tom says he is.”  
Clint chuckled, “Carson is less a single entity, and more a complex organization. Tom came from a half home, so didn't need Carson's tender mercies to give him a lift.”

“Don't forget to contact Stella, Clint, she'll need the heads up,” Bruce said, distractedly. Stella was the current head of the Carson group, one of the old man's daughters.

He had Greta commanding the small bevy of robots he had in the house to clean up and refresh the place. The AI also put in an order with the grocer in town, for delivery in the next two days, as well as a rush online order to a camping outfitter. The house didn't have enough space, so a few of the Agents and kids would have to camp in the backyard.

“All right,” Bruce said, looking up from his quick work. “The other seven can go to my place in Hollister.” Clint was surprised, that place was his sanctuary. “The agents can meet the kids there, or, more preferred, pick them up here. Tommy, we'll need you to coordinate all this, we cannot miss this plane tonight.” Bruce was firm. Tommy accepted with a grin and head bob.

“Sure, yeah, I can do this. Clint, send me the names of who you contacted, I can set up a conference call to explain everything,” Tommy shook off his own surprise. He'd hoped he could help Sara and Everett, but this was way beyond anything he ever thought to expect.

“We can keep two of the kids. They are orphans from Half Moon Bay,” Sara whispered, nearly overcome. This was a miracle.

“No, don't do this through SHIELD,” Bruce growled, not quite angry, but tense. Clint and Tommy shared a look. Clint would get to the bottom of that issue later. “Sara, do you have a computer here?” She nodded. “Good. If we can, we'll Skype with everyone, including your mate. Clint?”

“Yeah, I'll text them again, how long?” They snapped together like the well oiled machine they were.   
“Say, an hour?” Bruce glanced at Sara for confirmation, that he got with an ear to ear grin from the woman. “Good. Tommy, see if you can get some time off, at least a week, preferably a month. Clint, I've emailed Stella.” The archer nodded, glad to have that off his plate. Bruce reached diagonally across the table to take one of Sara's hands in his. With a gentle squeeze, he reassured her. “This is easy. Just think of the Underground Railroad, for the 21st Century,” he said, laughter in his voice and eyes. The tears finally fell from her eyes as she whispered her thank to the two new friends she was gifted that day.

 

Within that hour, Bruce and Clint had organized a pick up of five of the kids by a team of shifter Agents on leave. Tommy was to meet them at the diner later that night, and give them directions and passcodes to Bruce's place in Hollister where they'd stay for the length of time they had left of their leave or until other arrangements had been made. Stella had responded and said she could send out a retrieval team in the next day or so to get the three Sara had mentioned were too young. Clint made arrangements for one of the on leave Agents to drive the Mustang back to Hollister. Before they left, Bruce gifted Sara and Everett with a check to help offset the costs they'd incurred with accepting the awakened children, and left a tablet for her to contact him in the future. 

 

They made their way back to SHIELD's office, and simply prayed the kids would readjust in their new environments.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Just so we're clear, I'm still setting up this world, and it's an incredible work in progress. Characterizations might change a bit as we get into this. Bear with me! (HAH)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Just building a whole new world in my sandbox. I do not own anything recognizable as Avengers, or the Marvel Universe.

Bruce and Clint returned to the building housing SHIELD to pick up where they had left off, getting ready for the trip to New York. They badged their way down to the onsite shooting range and Clint signed out a Glock and box of ammo for the pair of them.

“C'mon old bear, let's see if you can still shoot straight,” he teased, waving Bruce down the firing line. He picked a lane, and put the gun and ammo on the arming shelf. “Here, use these for ear protection while I scare up safety glasses,” he told the professor, pulling out stubby looking ear plugs that are at once squishy and dense. Bruce took a pair and after pulling his earpiece out, seated each plug in an ear. Sound is immediately and completely cut off, which startles him. He pulls one back out.

“Damn. What the hell are these made with?” he wondered, staring intently at the dense foam pinched between finger and thumb.

Clint laughed, “No idea. It's Starktech, and all I know is that our R&D kids got the design approved without blowing cover on dozens of us. Not even the most sensitive hearing is affected with those in. And, there's other models we can use in the field.” He rambled, happy about this piece of technology. It would make Bruce jealous, but logically, it kept his hawk safe, so jealousy didn't enter into the picture, much.

“Huh, interesting. This Stark is quite the guy to get you all hot and bothered with new tech toys,” Bruce teased right back, one corner of his mouth lifting in a daring smirk.

“Hah, right! Tech that keeps my feathered ass in one piece for you is the most important thing!” Clint laughed, brushing up against the other man. “Now, do you recall our old hand signals?” Clint had 2 pair of safety glasses in hand, giving one to Bruce. The bear lifted the pair over his own spectacles, and followed Clint back to the firing line and their shooting lane.

They practice with the Glock until the ammo runs out, silence between them except for the bark of the gun. Signals and words exchanged via the flash of fingers, the twist of hands as they tease and harass each other about their shooting styles. Clint is almost lazy in his perfection, shots squeezed off indolently, without care to any consideration for aiming. He always hits what he aims at, be it the bull's eye or any other spot on the target. He challenged Bruce to match him, and then, cheated. Distracted, Bruce did what he could, but aside from matching the bull's eye shot, every successive shot is off. Clint laughed as he growled good naturedly, and promised retaliation.

Done with firing practice, they leave the range, returning the borrowed gun with quiet thanks. Together, they head to the roof, at Bruce's insistence.

 

“Okay, what's so hush hush we had to come up here?” Clint asked, as soon as the fire door is latched behind them. He can get them back in, no problem. They settled against the edge of the short wall that acted as a sort of safety barrier, backs to the setting sun.

“Because I needed the privacy to show you this,” Bruce tucked his left hand into his ever present ruck sack and came back with a flat, silver-black disk, 4” in diameter.

“And this is?” Clint asked, curious, eyes firmly on the disk. He wondered which of the many vague projects he remembered from previous visits to see Bruce this one could be.

“Hm, let's see. Greta? I'd like the plans and examples for Clint's arrows please,” he holds onto the edge of the disk and watched Clint's face in quiet bemusement. It's a study in astonishment as Clint's eyebrows make tracks to his hairline.

The disk expanded to easily 4 times its size, and started to glow a greenish white. There was a slight odor emanating from the disk, something Clint recognized as being unique about Bruce's lab. Not quite “wet bear smell”, but an earthy muskiness that was always synonymous with the bear.

“Of course, Bruce, right away.” Clint hears echoingly through the disk. His eyes are comically wide.

“You did it?” he queried, nearly breathless, a surge of excitement bubbling up in his chest.

“Watch,” Bruce commanded with a whisper. The glow intensified, shifting spectrum to blue.

Soon, objects begin to emerge through the disk. A roll of papers, and a sheaf of arrows emerge and Bruce waves at Clint to catch the items. “They will fall if you don't catch them,” Bruce gently admonished, startling Clint into movement. He reached forward and grasped the items, crushing the arrows into the roll of paper.

“God, Banner, you thought you'd never get this stable,” Clint breathed, tugging on the materials. They came forward easily, no discernible hesitation that Clint could detect.

“I know. So far, the field only generates on the local. Taking it on this mission is a chance for field tests I've not had yet,” Bruce replied, a satisfied smile curling his lips.

“How did it balance against the Earth's polarity?” Clint wanted to know, even as he handled each arrow with care, checking the construction, the fletching, the heads. He found no flaws, as he knew would be the case. He can hear Bruce rambling about the magnetics involved in the transporter and understands half of it. Clint is no slouch, but he didn't excel in the sciences like Bruce did. It's enough for him to help, as he can.

“The possibilities, Bruce!” Clint wondered.

“Ah, limited. I can't move organic material through. Crisped every plant I tried, and when I attempted a single mouse, well,” Bruce is a little green on that memory. Must have been particularly bad. Bruce actually liked the mice he kept in the lab. They were given to him as a joke, by Clint, who insisted at the time 'what lab is without lab rats', while assembling an elaborate habitat. Clint wondered if Bruce had even chosen one of those mice, or had just captured a wild one.* “I even tried non-living organic material. Flash fried, all of it,” he admitted glumly.

“Well, you'll either figure it out, or it won't be important,” Clint shrugged and Bruce just laughs. Working with Clint is invigorating and enlightening, and always leaves him with more ideas than he knows what to do with.

“All right, enough of the transporter, the arrows?” Bruce redirected Clint's attention.

“Oh, they look fine. The range captain here won't let me use my bow, so testing them will have to wait until we get to the Helicarrier,” Clint rambled a little, looking over the half dozen shafts in his hands.

“Hm. The plans there have improvements for various designs we've discussed,” Bruce pointed at the ignored roll.

Clint put the arrows down on the roof and unrolled the sheaf, revealing detailed schematics for a dozen different types of arrows and specific heads that Clint could definitely use in his line of work.

“Oh damn, fuzzy, these are sweet looking,” Clint's voice is overjoyed and deeply shadowed with awe.

“Your R&D folks can go to town. SHIELD can better afford to keep you in gear than I can,” Bruce said, offhandedly.

“We're not taking these designs from you. Just, no,” Clint shook his head, “We'll get Phil to get a contract on these before the plane leaves tonight,” he insisted, neatly rolling them up again.

“Anything else in that nifty bag o'tricks?” Clint wanted to know next.

“A few odds and ends,” Bruce hedged. “We can poke over them on the plane. This needed a bit of room and open air,” he doesn't need to finish. Better to run that experiment somewhere other than a flying tin can, if wonky magnetics decided to go haywire.

Clint pushed the roll into Bruce's ruck sack, then grabbed the bear scientist by the jaw to soundly kiss him in thanks.

They stay on the roof then, for several hours. Bruce shedding his clothes for the change to let Clint groom his fur. It is likely the last chance they'll have to relax in the face of this looming crisis.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * - look, I don't want to argue the evils of animal testing. Yes it's a nasty business, but humanity has long held an idea that it is better to test on animals, than on other humans. It is what it is. In the case of this story, that will be the only time it's ever mentioned (I hope).


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Do not own anything but plot, background, and original characters. Everything recognizable as Avengers belongs, unfortunately, to Marvel, and Disney. I can share my toys though.

The flight east was a mediocre 6 hours on a chartered Lear jet. The 2 agents and 1 scientist traded a few stories before settling into a discussion of what they were flying towards.

“So we're meeting with the other members of this 'team', Agent Coulson?”, Bruce asked Phil. He sat in one of the plush, leather chairs, facing the human male. Clint had the window seat beside Phil.

Phil's head dipped once as he replied, “Yes. Agent Romanoff, 2 humans, and one alien professing to be a God. Your tablet ought to have dossiers on them by now, though past experience with Romanoff should give you adequate info. The others,” Phil indicated Bruce's tablet, held loosely in his hand, “Well, you've got Stark, God help you.”

Clint sniggered, and takes up the discussion, “Stark built himself a power armor, if you can believe it. The other man is Steve Rogers.” And Clint waits for it.

Bruce speed reads the appropriately labeled dossier, blinks and then looks at the 2 agents, “You're kidding?” They both shake their heads in the negative. “Holy crap! Captain America, seriously?!”, Bruce was shocked. Finding Steve Rogers had been something of a legend around the 'water cooler' at SHIELD. Most agents had been of the strenuous opinion that he'd never be found, that he was well and truly dead.

Clint laughed, tipping his head back to expose the lean column of his neck. The sound is loud in the small, nearly empty plane, but he didn't care, “You should have seen Fan Boy's reaction,” he chortled, indicating his handler. Phil blushed faintly in embarrasment, making Clint laugh harder, “He stalked poor Rogers the first week he was awake, AND watched while the Sci geeks defrosted him.”

“I told them that mock 40s set up was a bad idea,” Phil muttered, ducking his head. Bruce laughed at that.

“Sounds like a story to me,” he said, grinning.

“Oh yes, definitely,” Clint chortled, daring Phil to explain himself.

“After we go over the rest of this, Barton,” Phil attempted to return to professionalism. The others attempted to regain control of themselves. It was mostly successful.

 

“So, Nat, Capt. America, Stark. Who else? An alien?” Bruce queried, a little surprised at that information.

“Oh Thor, yeah...He's special. Crashed on Earth in New Mexico, what, 6 months ago?” Clint looked at Phil for confirmation.

Phil nodded, “Yes, the Puente Antiguo mess. A hammer crashes to earth, bringing a monsoon with it, the likes of which hadn't been seen in 100 years, in that area. Then this huge, over muscled Scandinavian puts in an appearance, and fights his way through rank of SHIELD agents.”

Clint interrupted, “And some of the strongest shifters! Dude's crazy powerful even without the 'mantle of his powers'. Damned impressive.” The air quotes had Bruce smiling.

“Wow, must have been a hell of a party,” he whistled, surprised.

“It was. I ended up rooting for him before he tried for the hammer,” Clint admitted, leaving out the part where he'd been required to hold a kill shot on the alien.

“What happened?” Bruce wanted to know, leaning forward in his seat, tablet clutched between his hands.

“As he explained later, he wasn't worthy of the mighty Mjolnir. To me, it just looked like all the muscles in the world wouldn't be enough to aid him,” Clint stated.

“Mhm. If you know anything about Norse legends, one has to be, as Barton said, 'worthy' of the hammer. Though Thor has not been able to explain just how the hammer knows,” Phil added.

“Huh. I did read the sagas in college, but don't remember much. Guess I'll have to make time to refresh my memory,” Bruce admitted, making a separate note on the tablet he held. “And then the rest of us. Are we going to blow the secret? Or paint ourselves as 'special'?” Bruce looked at the man he considered his. Clint stared back steadily, not having much to add to the conversation. He'd either be exposed, or not, depending on the directives of SHIELD.

Phil allowed, “SHIELD's position is that we tell the team. The organization as a whole, is not going to reveal itself, but you 3 are different.”

“And if any of us end up on the news?” Bruce worried. It would be bad news for shifters as a whole.

“We'll deal with it when and if it happens,” Phil promised. Bruce nodded and went back to reading the files he had. It wasn't a perfect answer, but then, there couldn't be for this situation.

 

The rest of the trip passed quietly. Clint fell asleep, tucked into his chair. Phil and Bruce finished their reading, Bruce asking the occasional question for clarity. The updated file on the nuclear threat didn't really have anything of substance for Bruce's preferences.

 

The jet landed at a small airport in Linden*, where Phil assures Bruce that a chopper is waiting to get them to the Helicarrier. As soon as the jet has taxied to a stop outside a hangar, Clint is awake and stretching in his seat, rubbing his eyes clear of sleep.

“We there yet?” he quipped, standing and reaching for his pack lumped with Bruce's rucksack in the seat next to Bruce. “Oh hey, Bruce? I just thought of something we could do to “introduce” shifters to the others,” he added, a particular glint in his eye as he stared at his lover.

“Oh?” Bruce looked over, from stuffing his tablet back in his own bag. He saw the hawk's face, and instantly caught on. He started to smile, a mischievous thing that promised Phil a headache.

“Oh dammit, Barton. What are you thinking?” Phil demanded, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Nothing doing, Coulson. I promise we won't cause too much trouble, or create an excess of paperwork,” Clint mock glared at his handler, warning him off.

“Just try not to cause too much havoc this time Barton, please? Otherwise Fury is sure to pop a blood vessel,” Phil's eyes crinkled at the corners, his only outward sign of amusement at his asset's mischievous nature. Most of Clint's pranks are harmless, as he reserves the less harmless ones for those that deserved them. Bruce just adds fuel to the prankster's fires, and there's no reasoning with the bear.  
Phil turned his back on the pair, to let them collaborate, and went to speak to the pilots of the Lear. He had arranged for the pilot's and co-pilot's payment for the trip, and made sure they'd be taken care of by SHIELD agents.

“Here's the idea. We'll get a junior agent to take our gear to our rooms, and I'm going to join the meeting in my hawk shape. You know Nat will try something, it's her nature,” Clint grinned, “Rogers will call the roll, too military to do otherwise. You just get to agree that I am in fact, in the room. Do that smug thing you do so well.”

“Heh, all right. Here, give me these,” Bruce took the sunglasses off Clint's shirt collar, where they'd hung since the trio had left California, and placed them in his rucksack. He also took Clint's sealed quiver, knowing the other man would not want someone else to handle his weapon. “If we thought you wouldn't need to transform back before the end of the meeting, I'd say go buff. But I'm sure Capt. Rogers will demand the change. Best to keep your clothes, this time.”

They laughed at the idea. Later, when the team was able to handle such shocks, they could be more blasé about changing their human skins out for their animal ones.

Clint sobered and said, “I'll change before we land on the carrier. You'll have to keep me from being blown off the side though.”

Bruce agreed and they rejoined Phil, who was finished with the pilots. The trio left the Lear and headed across bare tarmac to a building emblazoned with SHIELD's black eagle logo. Once inside, Phil peeled off to check the status of their departure time for the trip to the Helicarrier. The others found a waiting room and did exactly that. Phil rejoined them only minutes later.

“Chopper leaves in 10, gentlemen,” he informed them as he stepped into the room.

“Time to hit the head then,” Clint bounced out of his chair to go find the facilities.

Bruce shook his head and polished off the bottle of water he'd been drinking. He grabbed another pair of bottles from the sideboard and walked over to Coulson. “Juvenile. He'll never grow up,” he told the agent.

“You wouldn't have it any other way, you know,” Phil quipped back.

“Nor you. Can't tell me you'd prefer he 'mend his wicked ways' and fly the straight and narrow,” Bruce replied, a touch of laughter in his voice.

“If he tried that, he'd be dragged to Medical so fast,” Phil shook his head in silent laughter, “No, if he straightened up to act like everyone else, it'd be no worse than if we'd clipped his wings and caged him.”

“Hm, yes, exactly. Think I'll keep him as is,” Bruce confirmed. Phil smiled.

 

They boarded the chopper, which quickly lifted into the sky for the 45 min ride out to the Helicarrier floating off Staten Island's eastern side.

As the chopper came in to a landing near the Con Tower, Clint winked at Bruce, slid off the headset and shifted. His features narrowed as his nose and mouth blurred and elongated into a sharp, wickedly hooked, black beak. His shoulders immediately sprouted feathers as his arms shifted to the angular pinions more common to the Harris Hawk.

“That never ceases to amaze me,” Phil said into his microphone, not a little awed.

The hawk hopped from his seat on the bench opposite from Phil and Bruce, into Bruce's arms, deadly claws clamped tight to avoid cutting up the bear's arms. Bruce caught him neatly and avoided crushing or breaking any feathers.

“Ah, forgot a falconer's glove. Greta?” Bruce called to his AI. The reply flashed across the right lens of his glasses. I will try, Bruce. The first true test of his transporter.

He cradled Clint in his lap, trying to figure out an alternative. His shirt wouldn't be much protection, though a sweater would add one layer. Probably still not enough.

“We could try a shoulder holster*?” Phil offered.

“That might work, if we can put extra padding on it. I'll just hold him like this until we get inside,” Bruce agreed, just as the chopper set down. As the machine settled, he unclipped his harness, and leaned out and around Phil, to drop his and Clint's bags to the deck. He carefully slides across the bench seat after Phil jumps out, so he can also drop to the deck. Holding Clint like a baby, Bruce heads into the Con Tower, letting a junior agent; shifter, his nose told him; grab their duffels.

“Take those to Agent Barton's room, please,” he requested, heading further into the interior of the carrier, barely looking back or waiting for a reply. Coulson, completely armored in his Handler persona, strides before him, leading the way to the conference room. Phil briefly speaks into a handset he had been handed by the self same junior, requesting someone bring them a shoulder holster, or something a bird of prey could perch on.

They are met 100 yards from the conference room by another junior agent. This one carried a thick, black glove that was immediately offered to Bruce once the professor got closer. Bruce slipped it onto his left hand, and Clint was able to perch there more comfortably. The hawk fluffed his feathers, smoothing them down in short order. A head bob reassured Bruce that no feathers were harmed.

“Thanks,” Bruce told the junior agent. He received a half completed salute before the agent remember Bruce wasn't a fully vetted member of SHIELD. Bruce just smiled benignly at the young man, and went on his way.

They got to the door of the conference room, where Nat was talking with two men who matched the mug shots provided in Bruce's intelligence reports of Steve Rogers and Thor Odinson. The trio are studiously ignoring a bored looking Tony Stark, who is seemingly absorbed in a redesign of the carrier's engines. In relaity, he is idly flipping through random security camera feeds that he's hacked via his own AI.

“This terrorist cell, you believe it's based on religion?” Steve asked, clearly upset by the idea. He'd hoped for better, in the past 70 years.

“Yes, our own, home grown, Pro-Christian militant groups,” Nat explained with distaste. She suddenly cocked her head to one side, as if listening for something. Her nostrils flared a tiny bit, as though she detected a scent she couldn't quite pin down. Steve echoed her actions, serum enhanced senses catching the cadence of shoes on the bulkheads outside, and the scents of animals. The smell is incredibly confusing, as Steve would swear to anyone who asked, he's smelled the scents of several types of wild animals since joining SHIELD. In some cases, it is really strong, nearly overpowering, in others, barely a whiff is detectable. He wanted to ask if folks really had tigers and boar for pets, amongst the usual lizards, birds, and dogs. Most of the time, he simply ignores it, as 'strange perfume', but he'd definitely prefer answers.

Their backs are to the open door, so no one realized they had company until Stark exclaimed. “Holy shit! A falconer? I thought you were getting us a scientist, Agent, not Bird Boy,” he waved a hand in Bruce's direction. Bruce just smiled a private, knowing smile. Tony's eyes squinted, he could practically hear “I have a secret!” being screamed at him. His fingers danced over his tablet, dismissing the engine blueprints, and the camera footage, to text his AI to see if he could figure out what was going on.

Nat quickly spun in place, face instantly transforming from blank stoicism to gleeful happiness as she launched herself across the room, straight at the professor bearing a hawk on his shoulder. Her own body blurred, taking on an indistinct, vague appearance, shrinking and twisting as she took on her animal form. Tony shouted wordlessly from the shock, falling back in his chair, and forcefully pushing away from the table. She was now a ruddy colored cat, perched happily in Bruce's arms, purring loudly and rubbing her face all over his cheeks and jaw.

Tony regained his sense, and cursed, “What the hell is she? Mutant? Demon? The hell is this about, Agent?” He certainly wasn't calm, and Nat and the bird both hissed at him, expressing their thoughts on his anxiety and aggression. Bruce could tell how freaked out he was, sitting with a white knuckled grip on the arms of his chair. Shifting his gaze to the others in the room, he finds Capt. Rogers backed into a corner, shield held before him defensively, which made him snort in amusement. 

Thor, however, had the most interesting reaction. That is, barely one at all. He mostly looked amused by the proceedings.

“Mr. Stark, Captain Rogers, please. Let's everyone just calm down,” Bruce began, while petting Nat. She squirmed out of his hold enough to raise a fore paw to the hawk sitting quietly on Bruce's shoulder. Steve and Tony held their collective breaths when the bird's attention shifted to the feline. The hawk let out a small series of squawks and chirps, lowering its head towards the cat. Nat responded with a delighted mew, and returned to cuddling with Bruce. He just continued skritching her head, particularly around her ears and under her chin. Thor quietly chuckled, able to understand the various sounds as words, thanks to the Allspeak.

“Agent Coulson, just what is going on here?” Steve asked, completely at a loss.

“Ah, you Midgardians still have Berserkers! This is a grand thing,” Thor boomed as he moved forward to greet Bruce. Clint tried not to shriek at the sound, and ended up hiding his face in Bruce's curls. “Your hawk is a handsome fellow, good sir,” he rumbled, offering his hand to Nat, reminding her of his particular scent. She trilled and rubbed his hand in acceptance.

“Thank you. I think he's quite a looker. I'm Dr. Bruce Banner, physicist,” Bruce agreed, throwing a small dig at Tony in his introduction of himself. He figured out Tony hadn't read any background information on this team. He reached a hand up to gently run fingers through Clint's breast feathers. Clint responded by preening some of Bruce's hair. “Nat, why don't you rejoin us, so we can discuss this like sensible animals?” Bruce requested of the assassin still purring in his crooked arm.

Tony watched in avid curiosity, and could swear the bird was acting bashful, and the cat lady was 'making biscuits' on Bird Boy's arm. His eyes had comically rounded as he processed the info of Bruce's introduction.

“Come, sit. Let us discuss this as sentient beings!” Thor enjoined, when no one made a move. He suited actions to words, and chose a seat at the conference table.

Bruce tossed Nat into the air, forcing her to change or land unceremoniously on the table. She shifted back to her human skin, landing lightly on her feet and standing straight. She leaned around to peck Bruce on the cheek, and run her fingers through the hawk's feathers before grabbing her own chair. She primly sat down, folding one leg under herself as she settles.

“Well, now that dramatics are out of the way, we can begin,” Coulson resumed control.

“Wait a sec, where's Agent Barton?” Steve wanted to know, sitting in the chair closest to him, which happened to be furthest from Bruce and Nat.

“We're all here, Captain, even him,” Bruce claimed as he took a seat next to Nat. She met his gaze, and grinned, sharing the secret. Bruce's eyelid barely flickered in a wink as he carefully settled in his chair, attempting to not disturb his hawk.

“How? There should be 7 of us at this meeting, yet I count 6, and a pet bird. Are you sure it's safe?” Steve expressed concern, pointing at the hawk.

“Yes, quite sure. Agent Coulson, please, begin,” Bruce exhorted the handler. To those who knew him, Phil was quite amused. The slightly pursed lips, and the usual crinkling around his eyes were dead giveaways.

“Of course, Dr. Banner,” he agreed, hands moving over the table's surface to bring up the files he needed on a large projection screen behind him. A SHIELD logo appeared as the first image.

Tony interrupted, “Wait one Goddamned minute. Is someone going to explain Cat Woman? What gives?” His brashness covered his surprise at meeting Bruce. 

“Well,” Bruce began, “When two people love each other very much.” His delivery was so deadpan, the others thought he was serious. Until the hawk startled everyone but him and Nat with an odd choking sound. The next surprise was Nat herself. She was laughing! Agent Romanoff, the feared Black Widow, did not laugh!

Except, she clearly did.

“All right Clint, you've had your fun,” Bruce reached up to coax the hawk down from his shoulder. “The good Captain and Mr. Stark are rather confused, and put out.” The hawk caressed Bruce's face with it's beak before allowing a transfer to the open seat on Bruce's left. Before the bird had settled, it blurred and became a man again, one bent nearly in half, laughing.

“Oh my God! The best prank in awhile,” Clint heaved between guffaws. “Thanks Nat, that was a spectacularly unexpected assist,” Clint wheezed at the red head, holding his sides.

Bruce was fondly amused, clearly used to such odd behavior. Thor was also quite amused by the prank, having realized that Clint was more than just a pet. Nat just had a self-satisfied smirk on her face. Steve and Tony were trying to stay calm, but not quite succeeding, with this oddity before them. People, that could turn into animals! Defying the laws of nature!

Tony fairly itched to study one of them, but knew that would be most likely frowned upon. He still tapped out a request to his AI to do some passive scanning of the people in the room for later research.

Steve just shook his head, coming to temporary terms with what he'd just seen. All Steve could do was lock down his curiosity until later.

“All right,” Coulson wrapped his knuckles on the table, “If we could get back on task, please?”

Clint sobered, but didn't wipe the smile from his face as he turned to give his attention to his handler. Bruce leaned forward, nearly into Clint's side, and slipped a hand into one of Clint's, squeezing it in appreciation of the joke.

The rest of the team easily gave Coulson their attention as he briefed them on the threat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * - Real town in NY!
> 
> * - Falconry does not approve of keeping the birds on your shoulders. Would you want that beak anywhere near your eyes? Remember, birds of prey are wild animals, and maintain their instincts.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Still just playing in the sandbox. Do not own, please don't sue! PS, I do not read spy novels, and this it is not my genre. I'm a sword & sorcery gal, so I 'm way out of my depth.
> 
> Warnings: None I can think of. Religious dogma incoming though (not this chapter). PS – This chapter almost did not get released. I started it around the time of the Boston Marathon, and shelved it for a week.
> 
> In other news...*sigh* my writing is taking a hit from real life issues. I regret having to do this, but I need to drop my posting to once a month. Go to my profile for ways to keep up with me, including Tumblr, Dreamwidth and Facebook. Thank you for your time.

The briefing covered everything Bruce already knew about the dirty bomb. His tablet rested on the tabletop, recording the bits about the cult. His main attention was focused on the reports of stolen nuclear material and how to find it before it was turned into a bomb. Greta ran down the notations on where radioactive material had been stolen, and acquired the tracker information. That would be important to trying to figure out the cult's movements, and maybe point out targets.

“Dr. Banner?” Phil broke his concentration.

“Yes? What?” Bruce started, looking up from his tablet, fingers frozen in mid-movement.

“Do you have anything for us?” the agent asked, knowing that Bruce tended to move faster when left to his own devices.

Bruce quickly glanced around the table, seeing all eyes on him. Clint shifted minutely beside him. “Assembling tracking information on the stolen material. Should have an update in,” Bruce checked the tablet. Greta obliged by flashing an update. “Eight hours.”

“Really?” Tony interrupted, sarcasm dripping around the word, “And just how are you accomplishing that with that dinky, market pad?” He sneered at the physicist, who calmly stared back from across the table. He broke Tony's gaze and put his attention back on Phil.

“If you're ready?” he simply asked, though it wasn't directed specifically at Phil. Stark was irritating and it made Bruce twitchy. Phil nodded, and turned the floor over to the bear. 

“Right,” Bruce briefly looked down at his tablet, “Look, I'm here to help, and I do that best by working largely on my own.” He focused on each member of the team in turn. “I have created a tracking program that is shifting through the known signatures of the processing plants that work radioactive minerals. The plants in the US are few in number, so we have to account for the rest of the world,” he explained, speaking somewhat slowly as he finally focused Tony. The dig was evident in his explanation.

The engineer snorted, “Still sounds too slow. Ever think of an upgrade in equipment?”

“My equipment works just fine. Yes, Prince Odinsson?”, his eyes moved to the large, blonde alien.

“Please, call me Thor, man of science. These trackers you speak of. Do they leave a trail for eyes to see?” Thor queried, curious.

Bruce smiled, a simple upturn in the corners of his mouth, “No, not that we would see. As the ore is processed for use, it is liberally laced with an ingredient that gives off a particular signal. It's proprietary, and altered slightly to be specific to each processor.”

“Ah, I believe I understand. Thank you!” Thor rumbled. Bruce nodded, and moved on.

“There are dozens of processing plants to sort and catalog. I'm plenty grateful this is done digitally now!” Bruce nearly slammed a hand to the table in frustration.

“Still don't think it'll take 8 hours,” Tony snarked, “Your program is underpowered.”

“I'd like to see you do better,” Bruce challenged, a snarl forming on his lips. Clint turned to look at him, then slowly reached over to touch his forearm in a calming fashion. This was unexpected. Bruce rarely felt challenged in his work, and this is not a good thing. Third best was patently false, the only thing Bruce disliked about his current job, was dealing with ignorant people in and out of the field. And it looked like he found a whopper. As soon as Clint touched him, Bruce forcibly takes a couple of deep breaths, attempting to calm down.

“Heh, you watch Bird Boy,” Tony insulted, “I'll have it done in half the time.” He snapped his fingers and bent over his tablet, hands flashing, ignoring everyone for the rest of the meeting.

Phil quickly wrapped up the meeting, “All right, this is what we know. The cult known as the Children of St. Michael has decided that their usual level of terrorism isn't enough anymore. Operatives within the cult have managed to get a supply of Radium, and Americium. We only have a partial idea on where their main base of operations is, as the head family sold their property and relocated. We're attempting to track them now. Dr. Banner is tracking the missing material. Mr. Stark, we need you to help track equipment sales. Anything they'd need to engineer a bomb without trace, or alerting investigative bodies. Agents Romanov and Barton, you will need to finish profiling the leadership. Captain Rogers can assist you. Thor, unfortunately you're on standby as we continue to assess your skills. You've proven your oratorical talent, but our analysts are confident it won't make a difference here.” As each person was named and assigned, they nodded acceptance of their duty. Tony simply gave a halfhearted, distracted wave from his seat, still bent over his own tablet.

Steve had one final question before the meeting broke. “Can you explain just what Agents Barton and Romanov, and Dr. Banner are, exactly?” 

“That debriefing will occur in a few hours in one of the gyms. You'll be told where, when we're ready. Is that all? Good hunting then,” Phil rose from his chair, closing out the computer interface as he did so.

“Dr. Banner, your lab awaits,” Romanov invited, standing.

“Thank you. Clint, good luck, and see you later,” Bruce also rose, and clapped the archer on the back, all the PDA they'd ever show while inside SHIELD. Only other shifters could determine their relationship. The pair left to head to their tasks.

“Sure, Doc. We'll both be nearby, if needed,” he reassured the bear. “Stark, you have your usual lab waiting for you. Try not to blow it up this time,” Clint snarked, still a touch uneasy after the engineer challenged his lover.

“Hey, that was one time!” Tony remarked, grabbing his tablet and leaving the room in a huff.

Steve and Thor waited for Clint. The trio left the conference room, and strolled through the halls, heading deeper into the bowels of the carrier until they came to a series of offices.

“Here, this is where we'll be. Thor, you can help us, unless you've got to report somewhere?” Clint pushed open a door and stepped into a large office filled with computers and several stacks of files. Nat was already there, tucked near the back, and seated in front of a computer, typing away from notes seated on top of a pile of folders.

“Nay, I have free time today. What would have me do?” Thor replied, looking at the sea of paper.

Clint contemplated, trying to remember where they'd left off. “Need someone to collate property records. I think Nat needs help combing through education records on the family, Sayles by name,” he responded. He showed the two men the separate sections and what each necessary piece looked like, then left them to it. He sat at a separate pile and dug out a legal pad and a pen to keep notes on, as he crawled through the stacks.

The foursome worked silently during the few hours they had until the debriefing in the gym.

 

Bruce walked into his old lab on the carrier and turned on the power to the computers. “Greta? You here yet?” he queried, speaking to the air.

“Yes Bruce. I've reestablished myself aboard the Helicarrier's network. The protocols we left still work just fine,” Greta's modulated voice came from the speaker nearest Bruce as he called up his searches. “There's another AI making itself known to me. It is not of the carrier normally. How interesting,” if she could sound surprised, it would be with that announcement. Bruce absently noted her comment about the second AI.

“Anything important from the meeting I may have missed?” he asked, tabbing through the compiled records of ore processors.

“Agent Coulson gave me a file on the cult. I am presently searching their website archives,” she replied.

“Good. We'll work with that as a sideline. We need to know their history, and why they've chosen violence as an acceptable answer to a religious disagreement*. The universities have all answered my query about material they've been shipped, so I'll move on to cancer treatment centers,” Bruce evaluated, typing up notes as he went.

“All right. I'll handle the hospitals, then,” his AI offered.

 

 

Tony reached his own lab minutes after the meeting broke up.

“JARVIS, talk to me,” he commanded of his own AI, dropping the tablet in favor of his holographic interfaces.

“Sir, per your instructions I have begun tracking shipments of concrete, both the materials to make it, and prefabricated pieces. As well as shipments of coolant, rods, piping, and other pertinent materials. I have also added search parameters on bomb making materials,” the British voice rolled and dipped as the AI spoke.

“Sounds good. Bird Boy challenged me to find the missing radioactive minerals. Can we allocate resources for that?” Tony replied, distracted by a request to update the coding for new monitoring within the med bay.

“Of course sir. Where would you like me to start looking?” JARVIS asked. He was working on expanding his presence within the Helicarrier's mainframe, and suddenly stumbled across a new awareness. “Sir? Does the Helicarrier have an artificial intelligence?” he asked his creator.

“We didn't give them one,” Tony replied, distractedly. He was absorbed in his work, and not really paying attention.

“Thank you, sir,” JARVIS sighed. He'd never encountered another AI, and believed himself to be the only one in the world. This presence intrigued him, and he needed to know more about it.

 

Tony would remain busy until bothered, or called to the next meeting. JARVIS set several alarms in sequence at 30, 15, 10, and 5 minute intervals to remind the man of the gym meeting.

Turning inward, JARVIS let go his search queries, knowing those would take time to gather back anything of use. Tentatively, he queried the other AI, asking basic introductory questions and giving his own designation. The other AI quickly responded, sending the coding of its designation.

They used their divided attention to run all the searches for their creators, as well as making the time to talk with each other. Happy, if such things were possible, to have found another like themselves, for the first time since they came online.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN - *Okay, the cult is obviously religious. I am of the opinion that folks can believe whatever they wish, but that one shouldn't force others to believe the same way. As I mentioned in the earlier AN, this chapter almost didn't get published. Not sure what I would have put in it's place, but I probably would have scrapped my antagonists. Religious fervor is a hard thing to deal with, IRL, or otherwise. Please respect my fic and readers by not creating a scene. If you disagree with anything I've written, find that little 'x' button at the top of the window/tab and click on it. Thank you.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own anything of Marvel's Avengers. Just the original characters, plot and ideas.
> 
> PS - I am attempting the first upload from my iPad. If it doesn't look right, bear with me (hah), and I will fix it tonight. Minor edits accomplished at 7pm EST/America. If anyone else finds something, please let me know!

When the newly formed team of heroes reconvened, only Bruce had new information to pass along.

"Managed to track 6 potential sources for the Americium.The Radium is proving harder to track, as I'd feared. Most ore processors have moved on from Americium, making it incredibly easy to track. I am just running down where the last 6 months of shipments have gone," Bruce informed them.

Phil nodded, looking at the corresponding report that Greta had compiled and emailed the agent on Bruce's behalf. "Good start. Now, this meeting is to discuss a newly revealed piece of information. Agents Barton & Romanov, as well as Dr. Banner are not human," Phil began, "If you could step to the side, please, Captain Rogers, Mr. Stark, Thor?"

Curious, the three so named moved across the gym's wooden floor and stood near a wall. Bruce, Clint, and Nat stood roughly arm's length apart from each other, and quickly glance at Phil. He nodded, giving them the green light.

Nat shrugged, but triggered her feline form. She shrunk down even as her delicate human face took on the shape of a muzzle and her ears moved up to the top of her head. They twitched continuously as the rest of her form altered itself. The tail that appeared behind her,  made Steve and Tony gasp in surprised shock.

"Damn," she heard the engineer mutter. Her form finished, she sat on her haunches and proceeded to wash her face. 

As Tony made to move forward to get a closer look, Phil snapped, "Wait". Tony froze in place, eyes comically widened.

Clint went next, quickly shifting back to the hawk they were already familiar with. He made a small squawk and took off from the floor to find a higher perch. By previous agreement, his chosen roost was the nearest piece of equipment, a weight bench with a bar set in place on the supports, rather than the exposed beams overhead.

Tony, Steve, and Thor then turned to look expectantly at Bruce.

"I hate this," he grouched, and willed the change. His change was by far the most dramatic. His body bulked up as if the assembled watched a time lapse video of some body builder. Muscle just rippled into being, as his arms and legs lengthen in odd places, shorten in others. Finger and toe nails darken and rapidly grow out, becoming curved, black scythes. Fur the color of perfect, dark chocolate sprouted everywhere visible. He kept getting larger and larger, towering over even Thor and Steve until at last he slumped forward onto paws the size of small hubcaps. His short snout wriggled as he sniffed the air, cataloging all the scents. 

He identified Phil-friend, Nat-friend, and Clint-mate before the new ones reached him. He smelled fear, primarily, and had a hard time separating the fear stench from the men. He moaned, and sank down on his belly, head on his front paws, and eyes dulling in trepidation before slowly closing. He huffed a sigh, a sharp, deep note that moved Thor's cape from the strength.

"God, what the hell kind of bear is that?" Tony's voice is soft in an odd way. He was awed by the sheer impressive size of Banner, but this? He's nervous just being around it. But when the huge bear just sort of, made this completely depressed noise, Tony checked his thinking. He wondered if Banner had any problems with his animal self.

"Sir?" JARVIS chirped through his earpiece. Monitored vitals had spiked briefly, and high enough to warrant a check-in. Tony absently touched the earpiece seat in his right ear.

"Yeah, J. I'm fine. Scan the animal in front of me and see if it matches any mammalian databases?" he reassured the AI.

"Don't bother Stark. The good doctor doesn't exist in zoological listings. Nat? Join Bruce please," Phil sighed at Tony, and called the ruddy colored cat's attention to himself. She nodded and leapt for Bruce's broad back from her spot on the mat. The bear didn't even grunt at her presence as she settled into his fur and warmth.

"What do you mean, Agent Coulson? What kind of bear is he?" Rogers asked, perplexed. He stayed still, a frown marring his face.

"And the rest of them?" Tony looked up at Phil, anxiety warring with curiosity across his own face. It was an unfamiliar feeling, he wasn't sure he liked it.

"Agent Romanov is an Abyssinian, well suited to infiltration." Nat meowed in agreement. That brought more shocks to the two humans. It appeared that she knew she was being spoken of. Thor just grinned from his place on the wall, before moving forward to greet his companions all over again.

"Agent Barton is a Harris Hawk, best suited to long range reconnaissance." Clint screeched, and hopped off the weight bench to fly to the bear and settle next to Nat. He began preening the bear's fur, attempting to settle the great animal. Nat purred at them both, eyes half open as though she was moments away from falling asleep.

"Dr. Banner is Ursus spelaeus, the long extinct cave bear." Bruce laid there, trying to ignore the scent of fear still permeating the gym. While normally able to enjoy Clint's attentions, he was just too uncomfortable in the presence of the rest of the team to find his usual solace in the actions.

"Damn. And what use is Bruce like that?" Tony wanted to know.

"Mostly as a fighter. But we try not to ask him to do that when he consults with us," Phil replied.

Bruce finally had enough and stood, making the pair of agents on his back tighten their clawed grips. Clint mantled, offering a soft squawk of protest. Nat could only hang on, claws dug into the hide, making Bruce's skin twitch.

"What's wrong with Dr. Banner?" Steve asked, restraining himself from reaching for his ever present shield. Tony backed up away from the bear until he hit the wall. Thor slowly bent down to rest his hammer on the ground before finishing his approach to the trio.

"This is a great gift," he spoke quietly, using the tone of his voice to try and calm Bruce, "You are all beautiful specimens of your totems. I am proud to fight by your side." He got within a foot of Bruce, allowing the bear to take in his specific scent, which easily matched what Bruce had already noticed. A taste of wild summer storms, ozone and electricity told Bruce that Thor was as he claimed, not human, and definitely not shifter. He could also detect no sense of fear or apprehension, and it calmed him somewhat. Bruce allowed the Asgardian to move closer until the big blonde could touch the thick ruff Clint was using as a perch. Burying his hands into the fur, Thor gave the large bear a vigorous scratching.

Nat soon left her spot midway down Bruce's back and hit the floor, halfway into her human skin.

"Okay, so I want to know, they keep their clothes every time?" Tony asked, still leaned against the wall.

"Sometimes," Nat began to explain, once her change finished, folding her legs into a lotus position and leaning against Bruce's left foreleg, "Other times, if we are comfortable or have the time, we'll shift without. No one's yet figured out how it happens." 

Bruce's head came around and shoved her sideways with his blunt snout. He then took a couple of steps back from Thor, shook his shoulders to dislodge Clint, who squawked protest, and shifted back to his own, rumpled skin. Clint shifted shortly after, to the sound of Bruce's sneezing.

When he finally stopped, he looked at Phil and said, "I'm sorry, I need to go back to my lab." And he scuttled out the gym door. The team shared confused looks, save Clint who sighed and scrubbed a hand through his short, spiky brown hair.

"He hates it when new people first meet the bear," he said quietly. "Folks are afraid because of his size, and plain just don't know anything about bears, much less him! I'll go to him."

"No Barton, let me. I need to apologize," Tony suddenly moved, finding courage at last, coming off the wall and heading across the gym floor at an amble.

He left the gym, hearing Rogers ask how SHIELD expected the team to train like that, and headed towards his own lab.

"J, find out where Banner's hiding," he commanded.

"At once, sir. Also, the search for any missing radioactive material has been stonewalled," the AI replied briskly in his earpiece.

"Huh, see if you can get around it, J," Tony told the AI.

"Dr. Banner is in Lab 6, level 4, sir. The locks are engaged, indicative of safety protocols."

"Duly noted," he snarked, jumping down a flight of stairs to reach the next level. He strode with purpose down the hall, ignoring agents that populated his path, and stared as he passed.

He found Banner in his lab, gesticulating in a grand manner as he spoke to someone out of Tony's line of sight.

"JARVIS, pop the lock," Tony said, laying a hand on the door. He waited far longer than he ought, with JARVIS in the carrier's intranet. "JARVIS?"

"My apologies sir, I cannot access this lab," the AI whispered, as though afraid to admit his failing. It was rare that JARVIS could not access something, part of a system he was established in. The half expected explosion from his creator didn't materialize. Tony stood in front of the lab door, confused and contemplating the man on the other side.

"Really? What could Banner be working on that requires a lock even you can't get open?" Tony wondered, tapping his fingers against his bearded chin as he thought.

On the other side of the glass door, Bruce flinched to a halt, and slowly turned around to see Tony staring boldly back. With a visible change of posture, his mouth closing, hands dropping to the counter top and his shoulders slumping, Bruce allowed the door to unlock.

"Don't just stand in the corridor, Stark," he said, voice projected via intercom to the hall.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Do not own anyone called an Avenger, they (unfortunately) belong to Disney-Marvel. Everything else is mine. 
> 
> TW: Mention of the word whore, not in context to promiscuous behavior.

Tony entered the bear's den, some primal part of his brain expressing a certain fear of “bearding the lion”. Fortunately, Bruce appeared relatively calm and controlled as he walked through the blast doors.

“Hey Banner, um...Look, that was uncalled for, earlier,” he scrubbed at the back of his neck, uncomfortable. It needed to be done. Something about this situation had him distinctly upset, and he needed to fix it, quickly.

“Look, Stark, forget about it. You and I are worth something to this team. We're going to have to work to our strengths, and do it together.”

“Bruce,” his AI interrupted, startling Tony. “I have more information available on the Radium.”

“Excellent, let's see it,” Bruce turned his back on Tony to find the nearest screen. That glass pane flickered to life, displaying a tracking graph of locations and shipments of the element in question. “Hm, looks like...” Bruce scanned the records, “Yes, here. Greta, highlight this,” Bruce touched the screen in a couple of places, indicating the spread of info he needed. It obligingly lit up. “Good, transfer to Phil, with the message, 'Think that is what we're looking for.' Then drop a note to the medical center, asking after their supplier.”

“At once,” Greta confirmed.

 

Tony looked around the lab for the woman, and, when he didn't find anyone, rapidly put 2 and 2 together. “Well, hot damn. I'm not the only one with an AI around here.” Respect colored his tone as he relaxed against a work table, hips canted, one foot leaning against the ankle of the other.

Bruce threw a bit of a shit-eating grin over a shoulder, “Well, programming an independent system was child's play really.”

“Ooh, sarcasm! I like!” Tony said, an open grin spreading across his face, lighting up the brown eyes and increasing the minute lines surrounding.

Bruce laughed, more at ease with the industrialist with every passing moment. “We probably need to have a meeting, but I'll leave it up to Phil to finalize. How goes the work on finding the equipment they'd need to keep the material?” he asked, checking his algorithms that were tracking errant radiation spikes. His hands moved over the glass screen in an intricate ballet. Tony found it hypnotizing, and not a little exciting to watch.

“Huh? Oh yeah. Well, I'd show you, but my AI” he grinned, “Can't gain access to your lab.”

“Oh really now? Greta, would you make room for Mr. Stark's companion?” he addressed his creation.

“Already done, Bruce,” the lilting voice intrigued Tony. He wanted to ask questions, but they were trying to stop terrorists. As easily distracted as he was, he didn't have the heart to pester the other man right then. They could geek out later.

“Thank you Doctor Banner. A pleasure to work with you,” JARVIS piped in.

“Hey J, where are we with digging through those equipment lists?” Tony asked, moving over to an unused window. The current progress flashed onto the screen, allowing Tony to track the reports JARVIS had created. He made motions to highlight a few sections and began a fresh report to Coulson.

They worked in reasonably companionable silence for about an hour, before Tony's curiosity got the better of him. He swiped his screen clear, knowing JARVIS saved everything.

“So, this Lon Chaney thing,” he said, openly staring through the glass at Bruce's back.

“Junior” Bruce quipped, not even turning around.

“What?”

“It was Chaney Jr who played the Wolf Man*, not his father.”

“And this is relevant?”

“If you want it to be, it is. Just thought you'd want to know.” Bruce kept on managing the scroll of information in front of him.

“Okay Mr Movie News, thanks for that...but seriously, this shifting?” Tony pressed.

Bruce sighed, and saved the progress he'd made. He turned around to look at the other man, pulling his glasses off. “What do you want to know?” This conversation was inevitable, and he wondered if the others were dealing with the same.

“Everything,” Tony said, a particular gleam in his eye. For those who knew the man, that gleam spoke of his overwhelming need for knowledge. It looked to Bruce like the light of avarice, a demanding desire for all knowledge. He was a little afraid of what this man could do with the Pandora's Box he wanted to unlock. The most Bruce knew of Tony Stark, was that he was the head of a former arms manufacturer. Only recently had they stopped those lines, and increased the work on green energy, medical tech, and personal tech.

“I see. Well, let's get a cup of coffee and get comfortable back here, all right?”

“Sure,” Tony stood to make his way back to the door. Bruce grabbed up an ear piece to stay in contact with Greta on his way out the door.

 

They found the canteen, made their own cups of coffee, and wandered back to the lab to talk. Sitting on the most comfortable chairs in the room, they sipped their coffee in silence, Bruce nervously girding his loins. Not fifteen minutes after returning, his nostrils flare, catching a beloved scent.

“Clint, come down already,” he growled, not even angry, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. Tony is surprised. There had been no indication of the archer's presence in the ventilation shafts.

The metal rattled dramatically as Clint shifted, moving towards another vent away from their seats. He removed the vent cover and slithered out of the duct and onto the floor.

“So Feathers, what brings you here?” Bruce asked his lover. Clint was not in the habit of haunting the ducts unless he needed to be there.

“You,” was Clint's immediate answer, “And training in an hour. Nat has the boys shifting through paperwork.” Clint moved to sit next to Bruce's legs on the floor.

“Ah, more 'are you sure you remember how to fight' from our illustrious leaders. Well, there's no new updates on the tech front, so we're clear. Have you eaten?” Bruce grumbled. He reached out a hand and stroked Clint's hair, lightly scratching. Clint didn't usually demand attention in public, but Bruce never denied him when asked. The archer nodded his head in answer to Bruce's unnecessary question. All consultants had to requalify on their skill sets if they'd been away from SHIELD for more than 3 months.

Tony eyed the pair speculatively, taking note of their closeness. “So, the first time you shift, when does that happen?” he asked.

“Ah, puberty, usually. Unless something forces it,” Clint answered, eyes heavy lidded as he enjoyed the feeling of Bruce's strong fingers against his scalp.

“What could cause such a startlingly physiological thing?”

“Trauma of some kind, physical or mental. But oddly enough, sometimes a simple broken bone won't trigger it. Sometimes it's just a broken toe,” Clint explained. Bruce hummed agreement.

“In shifter families,” Bruce joined the conversation. “It's not unusual for the child to shift early. Still not sure why that happens.” He shrugged. He had been studying shifter physiology whenever he had time, but it was imperfect work.

“Huh. How long has this species been around,” Tony wanted to know.

“Forever, so far as we can tell. Legends of shapeshifters exist in nearly every culture. It's potentially a social anthropologist's dream to figure out.”

“Wow, impressive that you've been able to hide for so long.”

“Regimes that control information dissemination help immensely,” Bruce griped, “Conversely, it's frustrating as hell.” His hand briefly stilled in Clint's hair. Until the hawk whined, making him chuckle.  
“Yes dear. Attention whore,” he said affectionately, gently shaking the archer's head.

“You love it,” Clint said, teasing.

“Hm, try again,” Bruce prompted, garnering one of Clint's blinding smiles.

Their interaction made Tony sigh wistfully. Since the restructuring of his company, he'd not had the time or opportunity to attempt a relationship. Several of Pepper's PAs had tried to make overtures, but she always fired them as soon as he realized, and told her. One agreement they had established when he promoted her, was that his relationships would not come from within the company. He'd considered that he might have a chance with Dr. Banner, but this tableau before him apparently put paid to that idea. So he wrestled his neglected libido back into its box, and smiled.

He'd keep on smiling, until he was numb.

Bruce had noticed Tony's discomfiture, but didn't think the man was truly put off by the display of affection. He'd have to give it some thought before acting on it. Clint quietly observed the entire event, as was his way. He was independently coming to his own conclusions. Both shifters wondered how things could change, for the better, as well as for the worse.

“Okay, we've got 15 minutes. Better get back to the gym. Human, or animal, Feathers?” Bruce nudged Clint in the back, urging the man to get up.

“Human, according to the roster. The hangar hasn't been converted yet for our use,” came the reply as Clint smoothly regained his feet and spun around to give a hand to Bruce.

“Cut that out! I'm neither old or infirm!” Bruce laughed, the lines around his mouth deepening, and crow's feet squinching at the corners of his eyes. The deep, rich sound acting like a balm on the other two men. One because he knew he was loved, another, because he wished to be.

“Yes granddad,” Clint sniped, dancing out of the way of Bruce's lunge. Bruce immediately crowded the smaller man against the nearest wall, holding him in place by sheer presence. 

“Behave,” he growled, eyes intense as he stared at Clint, needing a small display of dominance

Clint briefly lost himself in the brown depths, picking out the pale amber lights that reminded him of good scotch. When Bruce growled again, nearly subvocal, he snapped back to himself and tilted his head to expose his neck.

“Thank you,” Bruce whispered, backing off with a simple, light touch to Clint's chin.

 

“Um,” Tony breathed, turned on by Bruce's display.

“Don't worry about it. Barton's too cocky for his own good,” Bruce threw over his shoulder as he opened the door and headed into the hall. He needed a moment alone to pull back on the dominance. He didn't often use it, but Clint loved to push boundaries. They'd realized early in their relationship that it was good to bother with the posturing they otherwise didn't care for. It had kept their reflexes sharp. Which had been a good thing, several times over, in the past. He did wonder why Clint had triggered it right then. He'd have to remember to ask his archer later.

Clint had an insouciant grin on his face as he deliberately adjusted himself in front of Tony before striding out the door after Bruce. “Gym 3, Stark. Come watch Bruce work out.”

And if that wasn't blatant flirting, Tony would take a vow of chastity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * - The Wolf Man, a 1941 movie, starring Lon Chaney Jr (though IMDB says he was listed without the 'Jr'), and Claude Rains. Bruce adding the 'junior' part was just to tell Tony that his information wasn't quite up to snuff. C'mon, they aren't going to immediately fall for each other, not really.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Team gets their first chance to mobilize. How will it go?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: The usual. Things begin to change from here on out – chapters might get further apart as I work on the rhetoric for the bad guys. It's not easy thinking like that.
> 
> Warnings for: Cursing, violence towards young adults; canon typical violence implied.
> 
> (author note: Spy drama is not my usual fare, so I probably messed this up. Be kind please? Also, I apologize for how long this took to get out. I had to do a massive rewrite, and then, well, got a bit sick.)

They never made it to the gym. 

Just as they reached the lifts to go down to work out, a siren began blaring offensively.

“What the fuck?” Tony barked in surprise, grabbing his ears. The others barely flinched, though the sound was painful.

“Red alert, something's going down,” Clint yelled.

“Here! Sound dampeners!” Bruce gave Tony a pair of black earwigs. Not as good as Stark's, but enough to do the job. “Clint, call Coulson.”

Clint touched a finger to his own dampeners, slipped in much earlier as part of his normal routine on board the Helicarrier. Plenty of sound that could damage sensitive hearing existed without adding warning sirens. He switched them on, dropping into the comm lines. “Coulson,” he managed to say, then he was listening.

Bruce, meanwhile, was talking to Greta, “Wake up the lab, this might be a good chance to see if the disks work when we get back to land. Run that list by me again, of what I brought with me?”

Tony tried to contact his own AI, fiddling with the settings of the dampeners until JARVIS' voice came through loud and clear. “Load up the suit, J, dunno what's going on, but seems we'll see some action.”

Clint turned to them and said, “C'mon, we're meeting up on Level 2. Something big is happening.” He shoved the two geniuses into the elevator and tapped in his code for the command level. The elevator rose silently, each man alone with his thoughts.

 

Once on the command level, Clint led the way to a conference room where the other 3 members of the team waited with Coulson and a few other agents. The tabletop before them scattered with the plans and tablets of something massive.

“We're here, Coulson. What do we have?” Clint said as they grabbed empty seats around the table.

With the team fully assembled, Phil launched into an explanation of what had happened. He sat at one of the holo-desks, a Stark special where he'd be able to call up any reports or related material on this action.

“We received reports from LEOs in the area of Des Moines, Iowa, of a hostage situation at a Spring Formal dance.” A map of the city appeared on the table screen. As Phil spoke, it zoomed down to show the school. “Our target group has been spotted as the perpetrators. It is a large group, though we're not sure of the exact numbers.” The map shifted to show a hotel, then a video popped open. “This footage was shot yesterday evening.” And the group focused on the video.

They watched as the video played, showing a lavishly decorated ballroom in a seaside theme. Young couples danced, or stood in groups talking, or sat at a scattering of round tables enjoying the catering.

“Good taste,” Stark said in an undertone from beside Bruce. Rogers frowned, but said nothing.

Not ten minutes pass before all hell breaks loose on the screen. With no rhyme or reason, animals started to appear in place of the students, the remaining humans crying out in surprise, and beginning to flee.

“Damn,” Stark muttered, looking away. He still wasn't fully cognizant of this world changing idea of shapeshifters all around him.

Some of the newly exposed shifters appeared confused and lashed out at the others surrounding them. It devolved into chaos quickly.

“As far as we know, the students are being held in the hotel, and the concierge has managed to convince the other guests to stay in their rooms,” Phil explained when the video stopped.

“Iowa?” Bruce asked, looking through the digitized information in front of him. 

“Correct.”

“There are a lot of mixed communities there. The suburbs of Des Moines in particular.”

Clint and Nat cursed. Phil's lips thinned and the commands to the advance team became more urgent, his fingers fairly flying over the translucent keyboard in front of him.

“Mixed?” Rogers asked, confused.

“Openly shifter and human. Or well, as open as shifters are, but the town as a whole, knows,” Bruce explained. His tablet hit the table and he started typing. He accessed the records put together from specialized census data about the townspeople, and whether they were shifters.

“All right. We'll need a plan of action then,” Rogers said, flipping through his hard copy report. “Need floor plans and any pictures. Barton, you'll be our eyes up high. If no other option is available, can you do this in your animal form?” 

He was taking a risk on this team, but it was no different than when he put together the Howling Commandos. He just had reservations about the scientists. The reports he'd read so far, indicated they'd seen action, Stark more recently than Banner. He would keep them in reserve.

“Here, blueprints of the hotel, and up to date, on the ground pictures of the entire property,” Bruce said, tapping his tablet to transfer all the info Greta had pulled on the hotel and surrounds.

Phil turned away from the table to communicate with the advance team. The rest finished reading over the pile of reports.

“The only problem with me as a hawk, is communication. No one's been able to do that, unless they've got one of those trick boards*,” Clint explained. He sat on Bruce's other side and manipulated one of the files. He pulled up the blueprint of the hotel so it came to life as a 3D image on the tabletop.

“Look here,” he pointed to the rectangular edifice, “Depending on the surrounding buildings, I might have a good sniper's roost. Best bet for intel is to get someone inside.”

“Never tell me there's no way. Figure it out!” Phil said, practically snarling as he spun back to the table. His eyes were bright, and his cheeks were flushed, very unusual to those that knew him. The team stilled, and waited.

Phil took several deep breaths. “My apologies. The intel from our advance team indicates that it's worse than we feared. There are bombs planted around the building.” A few taps on his keyboard shifted the first map out for a series of photographs of the front and sides of the hotel. “There are a couple of truck bombs and smaller charges apparently designed to blow the whole thing. The hotel is at capacity.” the photos disappeared to be replaced once again by a map of the hotel. The known explosives were highlighted, 3 truck bombs and at least 10 smaller devices dotted the layout.

“I can scout the inside of the school with a video camera from the ventilation shafts,” Nat offered quietly. Her skill at infiltration was high, and even better in her animal shape.

“It'll go faster if there's someone to take the upper floors,” Clint added.

“All right. Any other tricks?” Rogers wanted to know.

“Distraction techniques. We might need tranqs and the like, depending on how agitated the shifters are. How many hours since this began,” Clint said, looking over the map.

“We're approaching hour 14. Go for Coulson,” one hand went up to his ear. “Really? Dammit. Pull the team back then, establish a perimeter if it hasn't already and wait. We'll be there soon.” Phil said, before looking at his new team, “Members of the advance came under fire. It appears there's two groups at the school.”

“Knock out gas,” Bruce said suddenly, still bent over his tablet.

“Tear gas? Too strong,” Tony said, surprised at the idea.

“No, something less powerful, like nitrous, but without an odor.” Bruce looked up and tapped his nose, “Very sensitive even in human form.”

“Xenon then,” Tony replied, catching on to Bruce's thinking, “Odorless, colorless.”

“Agent Coulson,” Bruce looked at the SHIELD man, “Can we get empty tear gas or smoke grenades and a supply of xenon?”

“We'll make it happen. Get going, figure the rest out on the way. We've got a deadline of 5 hours from now to meet with the negotiator.” Phil dismissed them and the team scrambled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * - the trick boards - devices used to train animals to communicate. Appears like a flat board, with pictures or letters (or both), so the animal can supposedly answer questions or 'type' out responses.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Team leaves for Iowa. New members are introduced.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Still just playing in the sandbox. Do not own, wish I could. Please don't sue. (It's my therapy); Introducing several of the AoS (Agents of SHIELD) characters here.
> 
> Warnings: None

The team scrambled from the conference room, and quickly scattered to gather their gear.

Steve was held back by Coulson, “Captain Rogers, you have a new uniform available. We took the liberty of updating the look and capabilities.” Coulson refused to admit he'd helped in that endeavor. “It should have been moved to your quarters by now.”

“Thank you, Agent Coulson. I'll see you on the flight deck,” Steve replied with a grateful smile. They left the conference room together.

 

Tony followed Bruce, mostly out of curiosity. He wondered just what super spy gear the professor needed.

“What can I do for you, Stark?” Bruce asked as they reached his lab once more.

“Just following along, Doc. You know where you're going, I'm just a consultant,” Tony glibly replied. Bruce snorted in amusement and headed to the back of the lab to pack any equipment he thought he might need. His satchel was sitting on a work table, and he quickly glanced around the room, finding nothing he wanted, he grabbed the satchel and made to leave again.

“Greta, make sure everything we've been working on has been ported to my tablet. And lock the lab down until I get back,” Bruce told his AI.

“Of course Bruce. The lab at home is up and running, awaiting your orders. The disks are fully operational and the robots are standing ready,” she answering quickly and concisely.

Tony's curiosity was in overdrive. Just what had this man managed to accomplish on a professor's salary? Had he finally found someone he could intellectually make out with? Someone who'd easily be able to keep up with where his brain went? He knew he was in lust already with this scruffy man, these hints into the depths of his genius just made Tony ache with want.

 

Clint and Nat silently made their way to their quarters to collect their gear. Each took the time to pack not only weapons, but energy bars and a couple changes of clothing. Still without speaking they headed directly to the flight deck.

 

Thor, ever prepared for battle, waited on the rest of his new comrades near the flying machine that he'd been directed towards by one of the agents from the conference room. He considered himself very blessed to fight alongside a trio of berserkers. The good captain seemed to ooze confidence and ability, so he would follow the other man's lead, for now. Thor thought it best as Rogers knew more of Midgard than he remembered from centuries past.

He watched technicians in bright blue shirts and ground crew in dark green move around the flight deck and in particular the jet the team was to use.

A team of science techs approached, pushing a couple of well laden trolleys. Two young people, kitted out in the strange, dark blue, skin tight uniform of these agents, broke away from the group and approached Thor.

“Your Highness,” the young, dark haired woman said, “We shouldn't be a moment more getting the last of the extra equipment aboard. Do you require anything before Fitz and I get all this loaded?”

“Nay, my lady. I await the rest of my comrades and am quite comfortable. Please go about your work,” he spoke kindly, “And, here, I am just Thor. No titles are necessary.”

“As you wish,” she agreed with a shy smile before turning to follow the other techs with her partner. The young man gave a small bow and went with his partner.

Only a few minutes passed before Thor's team appears. Everyone seemed ready to face whatever may come their way.

 

The seven boarded the plane. Tony whistled, eyes taking in the interior and what systems and gadgets he could see. Bruce headed for the station he always occupied when not in the lab, pulling out his tablet to dock in place of a laptop on the desk.

“Stark, there's a secondary station to Dr. Banner's,” Phil said, indicating the open desk on Bruce's right.

Tony moved across the jet, still cataloging everything he saw, to sit next to the bear. “So, come here often?” he quipped, getting a smile in return.

Phil showed Steve and Thor the other side of the jet, where there was a line of bucket seats and safety harnesses.

“Sorry gentlemen, this particular jet is outfitted for a science team. You'll have to be strapped in for take off, then you'll be free to move about,” he told them before going around a divide to a small lab where the two young techs were busy with Bruce's request.

“FitzSimmons, how are you doing?” he asked them.

“Doing well sir. We have 10 filled canisters so far. But we could use Dr. Banner's advice as soon as he's free,” the young man replied, able to look at Phil while his partner fitted another slim, metal container to a larger, more rotund one.

A lean, muscled shadow slipped into the lab behind Coulson, and called to the techs. “Well, Eyases, are you ready for this?”

“Clint!” the woman called, happy to see her trainer. The man smiled, turning a small knob on the feed line to the canister connection. There was a faint hiss as the small canister filled.

“Hello Jemma, Leo. All set?” Clint was smiling, but the expression didn't reach his eyes, which conveyed a hint of worry.

“As ready as we can be, Boss. We've almost got the canisters done,” Leo answered, able to step away from the work station. He went over to Clint and grasped his hand in welcome.

“Good. Bruce will be along once we've reached a cruising altitude. I need to get my butt back up to the cockpit before Nat replaces me!” Clint returned the handshake, and brushed by Jemma, touching her shoulder as he left the lab through the other doorway.

“Agent Coulson, we're clear for takeoff in 5,” Nat's voice came over the intercom, hastening Phil's own steps back to the rack of seats. He checked on Steve and Thor, saw Tony and Bruce were strapped into their seats and grabbed his own.

The flight to Iowa was relatively short, given the jet's top speed but the science team had plenty of time to get the Xenon packages ready.

They found a sturdy parking garage to set the jet down on, the VTOL capabilities in full use.

Phil called the team together, “All right, we need to hook up with the advance team and coordinate the rest of the mission with them. Rogers, you've got command from here. Let's get it done, people.”

 

Steve stood up, and drew all eyes to his statuesque form and stern face. “With the help of Agents Fitz and Simmons, the knock out gas is ready to deploy. We'll need several teams to infiltrate and scatter them. Agent Barton, you are my liaison with the shifters, since Agent Romanov will be among the teams.” Clint nodded, accepting the task.

“Agent Romanov, you'll head up the teams of infiltrators and report to Barton. Thor and I will join the negotiator's team and Mr. Stark and Dr. Banner can handle supplies and equipment,” Steve handed out the rest of the assignments. Tony leaned forward, about to argue when Steve pinned him in place with a look. “This is how it is. If you can't work with it, you're off the team. Everyone has a part to play, and yes, it does occasionally mean working below optimums or preferences. Remember it could all change in an instant.”

Tony subsided with a frown. Bruce accepted with the quiet sort of inevitability he used in most interactions with SHIELD. It came mostly from Agents who didn't understand how to work with him, and he knew that a similar problem would occur with Rogers in command. At least, at first.

“Let's get going,” Steve wrapped up, wanting to get this hostage situation over with.

They got to work.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The team helps organize the infiltration of the hostage held hotel (oy, I hate alliteration).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: not for profit. Playing in Marvel's sandbox only in so far as the characters are concerned.

The shifters left ahead of everyone else to get started on infiltrating the hotel. The science team took the filled bottles and grenades of Xenon along to pass out to the operatives small enough to crawl through the duct work.

Bruce and Tony went along to attach radio controlled quick releases to the canisters.

Steve and Thor joined the operational team and neatly fit themselves into the discussion at hand about the frontal assaults. Coulson joined them a moment later.

“Update?” Coulson asked.

“The infiltrating agents are nearly ready to go. Stark is not quite done with the quick release mechanisms,” Steve began.

“The good doctor has several of these canisters as back up,” Thor added, using the unfamiliar phrase easily.

“Your agents are set up in the garage we landed on, and have established a sniper's nest. The breaching teams are ready to tackle the groups out front, and by the pool. We are just waiting on the inside teams,” Steve finished.

“Good,” Coulson replied, scanning the report he'd been handed by one of the agents.

 

Tony helped the shifter agents prep their work harnesses, attaching strips of magnets to the leather and chrome. Bruce was busy with the final touches for the system they'd cobbled together to release the gas.

The bear physicist screwed on new caps that were modified with radio receivers. They'd rushed the job, and prayed that having half again as many canisters as they estimated meant they would have adequate coverage.

The two science agents were with Clint and the pilot, looking over schematics of the HVAC system.

“Okay, we have to get a group on the roof to direct the outflow of air back into the hotel, or will this stuff not cause a problem for the environment?” Clint told his group.

“No, Agent Barton, the xenon won't cause a problem,” Simmons explained, “It will aerosolize and disperse, leaving the immediate air space without a problem*.” Jemma was still a bit wide eyed over having to be in the field, but knew Clint had trained her well, and trusted her expertise in biochemistry.

“But how do we get the equipment up there? The birds assigned here can't carry all the gear the others will need,” Leo asked, nervously fidgeting with a tablet. He couldn't help it, unused to pointing out what was possibly a large flaw in the plan.

“Got it covered,” Clint said confidently. Or so he hoped. “Dr. Banner, do you have a minute?” Clint called to his partner.

Bruce looked up and over to Clint, considering. “Yeah, these are almost done,” he said, waving another agent over to take over from him. He made his way over to the planning table. “What do you need?”

“The disks, have you tested them since we landed?” Clint quietly asked. The shifters just ignored their conversation, knowing they'd be told if it affected them. Their heightened senses made it hard to have truly private conversations with others.

“Ah, not yet. I can do it now?” Bruce offered. Clint nodded.

Bruce went back to the others to get his satchel and pulled out a pair of the flat disks that Clint was interested in. Putting the satchel back down, he touched the comm in his ear, tuning to a different channel. “Greta? I need to test the disks, if you'll alert the lab,” he said. All the scientists turned from their jobs to watch.

Taking a few steps away from the others, Bruce grasped one disk by the edges. The disk expanded, the sight of which made several people gasp in surprise. The greenish white glow of an active disk appeared, slowly enlarging as the disk did, finally coming to a stop at its full 24 inch size. Bruce let go, and tossed Clint the other disk. “Here, let's try something easy first,” he said as Clint snatched the 4” round out of the air.

“Greta,” Bruce called, “Send me 2 sets of needlenose pliers please.”

“At once,” Greta's voice emanated from the disk. The glow brightened a bit as she commanded the robotic arms in the distant lab to comply with Bruce's wish.

Tony stared in wide eyed rapture as the red rubber grips began to poke through the disk. As soon as there was enough to grasp, Bruce had them both in his free hand.

“Thank you,” he said. The light dimmed shortly thereafter. “Clint, I'm going to try and push these through to you, but you have to turn it on,” Bruce called to Clint.

“Oh, right, how?” Clint stuttered, distracted, his hand loose around the disk.

“Take the edge in each hand, and lightly tug once, in opposite directions,” Bruce told him. Clint followed through and immediately the disk expanded.

When it stopped, Bruce nodded and put the tips of the pliers to the rippling green surface of his disk. They were swallowed, so he pushed on the pliers, forcing them to go through the disk.

“Good heavens!” Leo gasped, intently watching Bruce. The pliers reappeared, a millimeter at a time, from Clint's disk. Once he had enough to grab, he pulled them free.

“What the hell is that, Banner?” Tony asked, a little breathless, like he was incredibly turned on. Bruce, and the other shifters, could tell from the scent the engineer gave off. He figured that Stark would be eager to play with this new tech.

“Bit of this, bit of that,” Bruce grinned. He was being deliberately obtuse, but really didn't have time to explain the entire concept. Tony pouted, but knew this was the wrong time and place for a deep discussion of science.

“Wonderful, we can definitely use this. Get the birds up here, we're ready to mobilize.” Clint turned to give out his orders.

Bruce looked at Melinda May, the pilot that had brought them in, “We'll need to break the packs down. These can't take anything larger than 18” in diameter.” 

Melinda nodded and turned to take a couple of agents over to the pile of gear that each agent would pull from to run their mission.

“Leo, Jemma, finish with the canisters and get the harnesses loaded up. Stark, help Agent May sort out the gear. We'll need ropes first,” Clint organized his teams and half an hour later, birds were ready to fly over the hotel. A few went up as scouts.

“Banner,” Tony stated in an undertone as the birds got their orders and took off.

“Yeah Stark?”

“We should talk about that little toy of yours,” he said simply. He hoped Bruce would share some details of this invention, and wondered what else the physicist had up his sleeve.

Bruce didn't get a chance to answer him as Clint came up to them.

“Stark, can you and Leo take the control box and our report up to the command tent? We'll be read in about an hour,” Clint requested.

“Sure you want to give away the button?” Tony queried, pulling a small, black box out of his pocket and waving it enticingly in the air between them.

“Yup, give the captain something to do. With luck, this will be a cake walk,” Clint said with a saucy wink.

Tony laughed, “C'mon kid, let's go visit the grown ups.”

At the command tent, Tony confidently strode into the midst of the planning bull session. Leo hung back, clearly nervous and feeling out of his depth.

“Coulson, Rogers, we're ready,” Tony announced, just butting into the discussion. He flicked the control box in Rogers' direction. “This is the control module for the canisters. Barton requested 60 minutes before you set it off.”

Steve clumsily reached out for the box, surprised at Tony's flippancy. But what should he have expected? This wasn't a military organization that had pulled him out of the North Atlantic. 

“Agent Fitz?” Steve looked at the young scientist.

“Yes sir?” Leo snapped to attention. Tony could swear the kid was seconds away from saluting.

“Does Agent Barton need anything from us?” Rogers asked. He was trying to figure out the best way to utilize these unique individuals, but aside from their basic training, he had no idea.

Coulson had tried to explain things to him, but Steve had eventually decided that the shapeshifters would just have to show him how they worked best during the operation.

 

Leo fidgeted for a moment, playing with the button of a sleeve, thinking. “Agent Barton and Dr. Banner have organized the bird teams to get some of the agent-infiltrators to the hotel roof top. From there.” Coulson waved the young man closer to the table, where blueprints of the hotel were tacked down, and marked up. Leo joined the rest of the Op Command members and continued explaining the first action. Pointing to the large HVAC machines, he told them, “The winged agents will get about half the agent-infiltrators to the roof. Agent Barton says they'll be using the 'hidden-as-prey' action. Two Scurry Teams, and one Colony* will use the sewer to approach. The rest of the shifters are available to contain any runners.” He pointed out each entry as he spoke.

Steve looked over the map again, then up into the sky where an assortment of birds were enjoying a lazy day. He'd been told they'd be shifters, and somehow, he didn't expect that they'd blend so seamlessly as animals. Honestly, the whole thing seemed like right out of John Carter or Tarzan, but his memories are fuzzy. He thinks of Jules Verne and H.G. Wells* and what they would have thought of this, and realizes, either or both of them could have been shifters. He shook his head, determined to get back in the game, circular thinking wouldn't help. He'd have his existential crisis over his life later. Now is the time to gear up.

“Thank you Agent. Head back if you need to. Mr. Stark can stay here if he's not required,” Steve told the scientist.

“Oh really, Dad? I can stay at the adult table? Gee thanks!” Tony snarked, arms folded over his chest and a frown on his face easily telling everyone how he felt about being dismissed. He'd had enough of it over the years. Steve frowned, but didn't rise to the bait.

“Thor, can you call up a storm once the birds are out of the sky?” Steve asked the armored blond standing off to one side.

“Aye, that I can do,” Thor agreed with a toothy smile.

“Captain Rogers?” Coulson interrupted.

“Yes Agent?” Steve turned to look at the man.

“I suggest now would be good. The agents can manage,” he advised, gaze lifted to the sky.

Steve considered it, eyeing the birds currently in flight. “Do it,” he said to Thor.

The Asgardian took up his hammer and walked away from the tent. Tony followed to the edge, to watch the purported god in action.

 

Twenty feet from the command tent, Thor stood in the open, hammer idly twirling as he scanned the heavens. For what, Tony was unsure. Soon enough, the hammer picked up speed and when Thor seemed satisfied with whatever he saw amongst the clouds, he thrust the mystical weapon skyward.

The previously fluffy white, sparse clouds drew up, and darkened while the sky dimmed to a darker shade of pale blue. Rumbling could be heard, like the far off sound of charging beasts, accompanied by the flashes of cloud to cloud lightning. Rain began to fall, slowly at first, before picking up to a fine mist.

Other than practically launching the hammer as though he were competing in the Olympics, Thor gave no other indication that he used any kind of mystic power. Tony was almost disappointed. But he had no faith in anything other than science, so had no expectations about anything Thor did.

There was nothing to do now, but wait. And Tony hated waiting.

 

The hour Clint had asked for, was nearly up. He started getting signals back from the teams that the canisters had been dropped, and the agents themselves were out of reach of the gas. He signaled the command tent, and waited for their go, to join the group approaching the rear of the hotel.

 

The attack began, a few minutes later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN:  
> 1: The gas and its effect on the environment is made up. Xenon exists in our atmosphere, and I suspect that this amount won't have any significant impact, but I'm not a scientist, and couldn't begin to tell you. It sounds good though!
> 
> 2: Scurry and Colony Teams: names for groups of shifters, mostly grouped by size, but the birds are called Aves. Scurry is roughly those animals that would be squirrel sized, and Colony for domestic cat sized.
> 
> 3: H.G. Wells, Jules Verne, and the book titles mentioned are true pieces of history, relevant to Steve Rogers.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fight scene

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Still not mine, though I dream. Oh how I dream.
> 
> Hey look, it's a chapter! Sorry, this one fought me almost literally tooth and nail. The thing had to make sense, and well, the results are below. Enjoy.
> 
> Warnings: Violence in this one, probably canon typical. Blood, a little gore is mentioned at the end. Main character is harmed, but no one dies. Yes I'll warn for it.

The attack started quietly, as was standard operating procedure when the shifters were tasked with starting ops. The conjured thunderstorm had briefly confused Clint with its appearance, but he rallied, and sent updated orders to everyone. The ground troops that were to take on the barricades got ready to move out, the sniper redoubt going hot to cover them.

Clint watched it all with a practiced eye until... **BANG**.

The shot rang out in the silence, startling everyone. One of the black colored birds, a large crow, fluttered to a landing in a bush near the driveway, too close to the front barricade to rescue immediately.

Clint growled, “What was Charlie doing?” Several nearby baby agents flinched at the dark tone.

Simmons quickly replied, “Diversionary, sir!”

“Dammit!” Clint snapped. Distraction tactics were not required in this offensive, he hadn't asked for any. “I'm going topside, see what's up,” he told the group around the map table. Not expecting, nor receiving any answers, he shifted, and flapped his dark brown wings for take off.

Bruce watched him go, then turned back to explaining how the disks would work to the people still on the ground. At the ten minute mark, the disks flared to life, and the six member team began passing through the climbing gear and canisters to the teams on the roof of the hotel.

“That's it, nice and slow. Do not let your fingers come in contact with the portals,” Bruce said, watching the team work. Twenty minutes later, they were done, and Bruce signaled that the infiltration teams were a go. Fifteen minutes after that, and they were clear of hissing gas canisters. The teams had rappelled down lines dropped through the HVAC system, twisty as it was, and placed the cans where they would spread the most gas.

The ground teams moved forward. The one headed for the pool broke slightly left at a fast walk, while the other went slightly right. Each member of the teams carried a weapon with its own ammo, either tranquilizers, bean bags or actual bullets. The plan Coulson and the team came up with hopefully meant no loss of life, but they were prepared if it happened. Medics were part of each group about to storm the hotel, and more were on stand by.

Natasha radioed in from the hotel, “We have control of the elevators. Repeat. Elevators are ours. Proceeding with floor by floor.”

“Acknowledged,” Steve replied, marking the hotel blueprint laid out on the planning table. The rest of the group checked their plans to see what, if anything, needed altering.

Thor stood beside the tent, keeping an eye on the storm he had generated. It would be a disaster if it built too far up and became a thunderstorm, the winds and the static energy of the lightning that would be dangerous to anyone flying.

Tony fidgeted under the canopy, debating with himself about putting on his armor. He wanted to be of use, but also knew that going in hot headed would screw things up royally. It didn't mean he had to like the waiting.

Members of the infiltration teams checked in as they made their way back to the load out point, their jobs with the canisters done. The science teams, combined with medical, checked them over for gas exposure and any other issue that might have sprung up since they'd left to start the mission. 

One of the Scurry teams was checking in with Leo and Jemma, bringing back the empties, when Bruce overheard them mention the sight of the lone Harris Hawk circling the building.

“Are there any stragglers?” Bruce asked a pine marten agent. The agent shook her head, dumping her gear to check it over under the watchful eyes of the science group.

Bruce turned away from the milling agents, walking out into the nearby empty portion of the parking lot. He looked up into the overcast sky, ignoring the still falling, but slowing rain. A black form hung, seemingly motionless, over the action.

Bomb squads were moving in, under the cover of the sniper nest and the teams that had taken on the barricades. As the techs fanned out to deal with the IEDs, the SWAT teams took on the fanatics. The fanatics started shooting at the SHIELD SWAT agents, while screaming rhetoric about demons, idolaters, and devil worshipers,

Back at the command tent, reports of engagement were starting to roll in. Captain Rogers and Agent Coulson started modifying their battle plans, adjusting their troops as necessary.

Bruce kept an eye on the others, and the slowly circling hawk. He didn't expect to be called in on this engagement, but he'd learned where SHIELD was involved, to never discount the possibility. He had to make sure all the disks he'd passed out were accounted for, but with Clint still in the air, he was loathe to leave the field. He'd just have to trust Leo and Jemma.

Rogers called his new team together, giving them their orders. Natasha had reappeared when the SWAT teams had engaged the barricades, her services no longer needed inside the hotel. She and Tony would head for the lobby of the hotel and help corral and dart the shifted college kids in the hotel's conference rooms. He and Thor would work on helping round up any stragglers amongst the cult. While he would have liked to have Clint and Bruce helping out somewhere, Clint was still handling the actions of the shapeshifter agents, and Bruce...he looked over at where the scientist was supposed to be. Steve noticed he wasn't with the rest of that group, and looked out over the rest of the teams and saw the lone figure of Banner watching the sky. Rogers sighed, wondering what was going on now.

So far, the shifters had been easy to work with, and there hadn't been any issues. But this? Bruce's current behavior just baffled him, and it would be something he'd have to talk to the agents about later. Why did someone need to stare up into the sky during an ongoing operation, he didn't know. No one had briefed him on any particulars of special abilities the shifters had outside of some of their animal senses carrying over into their human skins.

 

The agents at the front of the hotel had breached the barricade, riot shields held as their front line. Bullets pinged off the poly carbon plastics as the group of ten moved their phalanx forward.

Clint dropped his cruising altitude and got closer to the situation, attempting to see the action as it ranged under the carport. 

A pair of combatants drew away from the 'port, the agent having gotten close enough to the opposing force to lead one of the cult members away from the group. The rifle toting nutjob used the gun in his hands to try to hit and knock the armor wearing SHIELD agent down, but the agent was able to stay on her feet, blocking each attempt. She was able to knock the muzzle of the gun straight up, just as the cult member was attempting to pull the trigger, causing the resulting shot to go wild.

 

**WARNING: violence and injury against major character, blood and gore ahead**

The bullet arced up into the clearing sky, and impacted the feathered shoulder of the Harris Hawk gliding overhead. The bird squawked in surprise and pain, and quickly lost control of its flight. The damaged wing crumpled into the body, causing the bird to stutter in midair. Frantically flapping the undamaged pinion, the bird attempted to compensate as he spun out of control, tail feathers spread wide.

 

Bruce saw the hawk get clipped, and the resulting spray of blood and feathers, and he was lost to his instincts. Somehow, he had to protect this most precious being.

He surged forward, arms coming up as if he might catch his falling mate. Instead, he fell forward, not quite tripping on the flat, groomed grass next to the parking lot, shifting as he did so. The oversized bear exploded from the form of the weedy scientist and roared its anger and displeasure at the world as he charged across the empty lot towards the front of the hotel.

The shifters, to a man, froze at the echoing sound of Bruce's bass roar, and the science team flinched for nonexistent cover. The command group paled before new orders were being issued at a rapid clip.

“Clear the front! Get those guns put down or dropped, now!” barked one of the agents into a comm. He was so nervous, the unit shook in his hands, and those nearby could easily see the whites of his eyes.

Coulson looked at Rogers, “Scramble the team, stop Bruce and try not to hurt him. We'll take care of the hotel,” he said, speaking calmly and sounding in complete control of the situation, as always. Rogers wondered if anything could ever ruffle that man's figurative feathers. But he followed orders, and called the others.

SHIELD rarely had to deal with mates serving in the same groups, but they did have plans in place to work with the inevitable. Dealing with Bruce on a rampage however, was vastly different to dealing with a pissed off moose, or an ornery wolf. 

Steve wasn't sure exactly how to handle a giant, angry bear, and hesitated just long enough for the others to move.

Thor laughed, running down slope to try and intercept the lumbering bear. “It will be glorious to match strength with the good doctor's berserker form!” he called as he went, the hammer slapping his thigh from the near invisible snap on his belt that he'd hung it from.

Shortly, Thor's well built, strong body impacted Bruce's brawny, furry shape, briefly stunning the nearly six foot tall animal. Bruce turned on Thor, jaws gaping, teeth gleaming in the returning sunlight. The clash was indeed mighty, as both beings struggled against the other for the upper hand. Bruce utilized his strong jaw and powered himself forward on paws the size of platters, churning the grass and dirt beneath them both. Thor grunted and heaved, thrusting his vambrace covered forearms alternately into Bruce's mouth as negligently as chew toys thrown to a faithful dog. They slid back and forth across a short expanse, the barely wet grass not giving Thor much purchase beneath his leather boots.

“Coulson!” Tony shouted from a few yards away from the tent. He'd sprinted for his suit of armor, left in its travel cube beside the scientists' station all this time. “Do you have extra tranqs?” He had none on the armor, not expecting to need any kind of projectile weapons on this assignment. Tony would need something, the laser pulses would kill Bruce. He snapped the suit open, drawing it up and on to cover his body.. 

Natasha ran over from the science station, a pair of air rifles slung over her shoulders. Coulson changed focus just long enough to get her a box of high dose tranquilizers. She neatly caught the box that was thrown her way, and jogged over to Tony, who stood watching the demi-god wrestle the two ton brown bear next to the hotel parking lot.

“Well, I wonder if Thor does mud wrestling?” he quipped, taking both a rifle, and half the box of ammo from her. A small, empty slot on the armor's left forearm neatly held all the tranq shots that wouldn't fit into the rifle, and he loaded the weapon so that he could follow Natasha into battle.

Thor continued to distract Bruce, occasionally attempting to draw his attention from the hotel by running a little ways from the building. The technique didn't work much, as Bruce had his human reasoning, and knew there was a reason he needed to be at the hotel. Thor feinted again, drawing Bruce's attention to the golden god's flapping red cloak, but the bear refused to chase him. Instead, Thor had to jump on Bruce's back, angering him, in order to halt his forward progress.

Steve finally recovered his wits and went to rescue the fallen bird. He passed agents in riot gear securing struggling prisoners, searching for where the hawk had come down. A shrill shriek that climbed then dropped off got his attention, directing him to the valet station where a medic was attempting to field dress the hawk's wing.

“Agent Barton!” the medic tried calling the man's name, a length of gauze in one hand, a thick leather glove covering the other. The hawk shrieked again, mantling defensively and appearing as though he would take off in an attempt to warn the agent away.

“Agent?” Rogers asked, coming up to the pair.

“Johnson, sir. Barton knows Dr. Banner is on his way here, but he can't take off on that wing, or transform!” the medic wisely kept her attention on the hawk.

“What can I do?” Rogers asked, halting behind Agent Johnson's right shoulder.

“Take this,” she threw the hawking glove over her shoulder. “And see if he'll step up on your arm. We can get him back out in the open at least, maybe they can see each other.” Johnson shrugged. While she could reliably treat injuries in the field, a territory or dominance display was not something she had the training to deal with.

Steve approached the agitated hawk carefully, having slipped the thick, padded glove on over his own uniform gauntlet. He noticed the right shoulder and wing was covered in blood and steadily dripping down the muted brown and dusky gray feathers.

“Agent Barton,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady. “It will be all right, but we need to let Agent Johnson fix you up.” He got even with the podium where the hawk stood, nervously shifting from foot to foot. Steve offered his left arm, the edge of the dark leather even with Barton's sharp talons. He could hear Johnson behind him muttering, “C'mon Barton”.

The hawk turned his head, left, then right, each eye focusing on Rogers while he made up his mind to trust the big man. Priceless seconds were wasted before Clint stepped from the valet podium, the cheap wood permanently marred by the sharp points of the talons, and accepted Rogers' offer.

Johnson moved forward with an easy swiftness that spoke of working with the shapeshifters before, as the movement didn't set Clint off again. Once Barton had secured his grip, she was able to wrap and bind his wing into place against his body. “Any more than that,” she explained quietly, “Will require more intensive work back at base. Let's get out in the open.” She shoved on Rogers' other side to get him to move.

 

The grounds near the front of the hotel were badly churned up. Thor had beaten Bruce back and was anticipating another charge when Steve appeared, holding the dusty brown hawk on one arm.

In an instant, Bruce changed direction, charging straight for Steve. The bear roared another challenge, attempting to intimidate the captain into running away and letting Barton fall. Rogers squared himself up, drawing upon his legendary courage to face down the threat of a monster animal slavering for his life.

He could only pray that whatever passed for intelligence while Bruce was in this form took over and reminded him that these people were friends, if not allies. The visual before him took his breath away, and made his heart pound.

A two thousand pound bear, angry at perceived interference with mate or territory, is incredibly fearsome. Canines at least three inches long, claws close to nine inches on the forepaws made for an impressively intimidating sight that Steve would have preferred to never challenge again. But he stood fast, though he did not meet the bear's gaze directly. His hardened blue eyes were pinned to a spot that would be behind the head, and he attempted to not blink too rapidly.

Bruce slid to a stop, a single foot away from Steve, head thrust forward, mouth gaped open as he roared his rage full into the face of the man who would lead this team of misfits. Steve could feel the heat of breath that gusted across his face, nearly tell what Bruce had had for breakfast, and stood, refusing to flinch, even with his id screaming in the back of his mind to run, to flee, from the apex predator before him.

 

The hawk fluffed his feathers, turned his hooked beak into the face of the bear and **screamed** right back at him. Tony and Natasha were finally able to drop the bear with multiple rounds of tranquilizers, putting an end to the showdown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Well, that's this chapter. I can only hope it made sense.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aftermath, return to base.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Not mine, no matter how much I play the lottery...
> 
> Warnings: possible triggering content for medical stuff (not explicit), and how one views animal care (could possibly be seen as abuse, but it isn't, I promise).
> 
> IF I'VE MISSED A TAG, PLEASE LET ME KNOW. I'd rather overtag than miss something.

They all breathed a little easier once Bruce crashed to the ground, his thick shoulders liberally peppered with tranquilizer needles.

His eyelids slid shut last, the brightness in his eyes dimming a little as the medication took full effect. Clint was still screaming as the bear lost consciousness. 

Coulson joined the team, having coordinated the last of SHIELD's response to the hotel situation.

“Enough Barton,” he said from beside Captain Rogers.

The agent-cum-hawk subsided with a few rusty squawks and chirps, managing an able glare with his golden eyes and constantly moving head.

“Well, that was something.” Tony honestly had no words for what he'd just witnessed, though he thought he night want to check his shorts at the first opportunity.

Thor looked as though Christmas had come early. “Are there other such berserkers in your ranks, Son of Coul? That was a most invigorating brawl!” He brushed dirt and grass from his hair, a wide grin practically splitting his flushed face in two.

“Perhaps, another time?” Phil didn't think anyone but Bruce could give Thor a decent fight. He addressed the teams, “I need agents to secure transport for Dr. Banner. Bring the vet.” He turned to Capt Rogers, “He'll be unconscious and in his animal form for several hours. It would be best to remove him from the area. Agent Barton also needs to be treated for his injury. We'll need the rest of you at the hotel. These kids are going to be scared, and in shock, so we'll need all hands for this,” Coulson directed. 

The newly formed team of heroes easily agreed with no trouble, Having just seen Bruce, alleged to be the largest of all known shifters, take on a veritable god, no one was prepared to be flippant about 'domesticated' animals.

While a group of ashen faced, armored agents came and surrounded Bruce's unconscious form, the vet trained medic arrived, carrying a large med pack. Leo and Jemma ran up to the team, eyes wide in surprise and worry. Jemma looked as though she'd been crying, but she was stoically quiet now. The only signs remaining were the slightly puffy cheeks and bloodshot eyes.

“Captain Rogers, we'll take Agent Barton so you can go on to the hotel with the others,” Leo said, approaching the duo. He had an obvious shoulder harness strapped on over his uniform that was meant to take the abuses of a raptor's talons, Clint eagerly moved from Steve's arm as soon as the young man got close enough to make the transfer easy.

The medic went to work on Bruce, checking to make sure the excessive dose of tranquilizer hadn't harmed him in any way. He lifted one of the bear's lips and pressed on the gum line with a couple of fingers, getting a good reaction.* Then the medic dragged out a stethoscope to check the bear's breathing. Leo brought Clint over so they could watch everything.

“Well agents, this is a fine mess you've gotten yourselves into,” the medic grumpily started in on them. Steve would have stayed behind, if only to defend them, but Coulson chivvied the remaining team off to their new duties.

Natasha caught up with Steve, after turning over the two rifles she had liberated from other agents. “That was Doc Bones, he's irascible, but verbally harmless. Never a more loyal dog either,” she explained as they walked side by side into the hotel.

“Agent Romanoff,” Steve began. He stopped, right in the middle of the cleared lobby, trying to center his thoughts. She waited patiently for him. “I respectfully request a complete debrief regarding your kind at the next available opportunity. I find I cannot effectively lead this team given the woeful lack of information.”

“Of course, Captain. Once this operation is wrapped, I'll personally see to your request. Now, shall we focus on the matter at hand,?” Natasha raised one slim arm, her hand pointing in the direction the others had gone. Steve looked at her, assessing for whether she might be having him on, then nodded. They moved on together, reaching the others who stood just outside the main ballroom's doors, where Coulson was getting a sitrep from the agent in charge.

“It's a madhouse in there, sir. Even with the gas, some of the kids and adults are still awake, and all of them are very freaked out. We managed to get the awake and still human ones away from the shifted, and those are being funneled into another ball room where armed agents are tranqing them,” the AIC explained.

“Sounds like everything is under control, Coulson,” Stark said, shifting the pod of armor closer to his legs. 

“You're here to help, Stark,” Phil growled, not in the frame of mind to deal with his snark. “Let's get in there. Rogers, you and Thor will help the agents who are shunting the animal shifted. Either by corralling or whatever they need from you. Natasha, Stark, you're with me.” Coulson separated the team, neatly taking over from Steve, who appeared completely out of his depth in this mission. Coulson figured that Rogers was having problems adjusting to the evidence of non-humans in the world. He thought perhaps the team responsible for his education hadn't done a thorough job. He could only argue with results, and thought he might review the issue another time, after this mission wrapped.

 

Once they were inside the ballroom, Steve and Thor strode off across the room to join the agents acting like cowboys trying to separate out each individual animal. One poor soul had been volunteered to literally bag up the smaller animals that were sleeping where they had dropped. Another had been through and scooped up the birds. Other agents were constructing cages as quickly as they could, so that the small groups of aniamls could rest safely until the Xenon wore off. Four medics moved through the already assembled cages, making sure each creature was healthy and whole. In a few cases, they assembled new cages, separating out a few that they believed might cause problems when they woke up and were possibly delirious.

Natasha, Tony and Coulson moved amongst the awake humans, mostly a few older adults, and some 20 somethings, to question them. Several were escorted out of the ball room, when one of the three discovered something that just didn't add up right. Agents on hand would continue the interviews and either take these individuals into custody, or release them.

It took them hours before the last person was reassured and interviewed, and the last shifter was caged for their nap, or convinced to shift back and be interviewed. Those caged would be interviewed only after being medically cleared when they woke.

 

Back outside, the medic ordered half the guards to help him get Bruce situated on a tarp for transport via front loader.

“Agent Fitz, please take Agent Barton on ahead, the transport is ready for you,” he told the young man.

“If it's all the same, sir, we'll go on with you,” he said, confident in his place among the other shifters. His friend and mentor needed him as a voice and that was more important. They knew Clint was stable and in no danger.

The medic looked at Leo, then Clint-the-hawk, and sighed. “Fine, just stay out of the way. Banner is all right, and ought to sleep for the next half day, if the dosing is correctly estimated with his weight as reflected on his file.”

“Excellent,” Leo said with a smile. Clint relaxed, and turned his fearsome, hooked beak to Leo's head and began to preen the man's auburn hair. “Well, definitely good news if it has settled you this much,” he spoke quietly, only the bird to hear him. Clint made soft chirrups as he gently combed through Leo's collar length hair.

They watched as a large blue tarp was unfolded as close to the unconscious bear as possible. Six of the guards checked the safeties on their weapons before slinging them by their straps cross-body over their shoulders before they bent to the task of shifting the one ton mammal.

Four grabbed the paws and legs, to turn Bruce over, with the remaining two keeping the tarp from shifting. The medic stood by his head, and made sure their jostling didn't hurt him. Once they had him securely on the tarp, the front loader moved in and was able to easily scoop up the whole affair, including sod, and trundle off to the waiting truck transport, with the guards, medic, and scientists trailing after.

Jemma had packed up Bruce's kit, even accounting for all of the teleporting disks that the teams had used before she joined Leo and Clint for transport back to the nearest base. She reached up to run gentle fingers through Clint's breast feathers, and he turned his head to clack his beak at her. “He'll be just fine, Clint. Now we really must see to you,” she said, a soft smile on her face. She'd be glad to see him in Medical, having his wing looked after. “More to the point, Agent May stepped up, and took over the clean up. She reports no incidents and everyone but Charlie is fine. He will make a full recovery. Didn't get hit in the wings, but a through and through of the neck. Damn lucky, he is.” She reported with a sense of distance. Jemma and Leo weren't cut out for field work, but of course, went where the assignments were. Clint chirped, completely failing to act like a songbird. Jemma accepted the sound for the thanks it was.

“The others will join us as soon as the hotel is squared away,” she concluded, as they arrived at the truck and climbed on after the front loader had been secured.

 

Hours later, a surgical team had managed to get Clint stabilized enough to allow him to transform back to human. He was wheeled into a different surgical suite and the repairs continued his arm, shoulder and upper chest.

Bruce was hauled to an observation room, several floors underground. He'd be left there to sleep off the tranquilizers and transform back. Guards were stationed at the door for his privacy, and the rest of the building's safety.

Thor had to be coerced into being seen at Medical, with Jemma smiling in a beguiling fashion as she gently teased and distracted the alien man while the nurses stripped his vambraces off to examine his forearms. 

"This alloy is very impressive, Thor," Jemma said, handling one of the vambraces with an eager eye. "Metallurgy isn't my specialty, but I know Dr Banners bite force is impressive to say the least. So these marks being nothing more than indentations is truly amazing." Her excitement caused Thor to smile, even as a doctor finally appeared to decide what to do about his non-injuries. Jemma wrinkled her nose at the overpowering scent that the doctor had worn. She wondered if he, or anyone ever read that monthly reminder about wearing strong colognes. (fix)

"These will be easy to remove, if I but have a moment with a forge at some near point," Thor assured her as the doctor poked over the bruises, getting no discernible reaction from the alien. Thor simply wasn't bothered by them, nor by the incessant poking about.

"Nurse Chaphelle, I'd like x-rays please. Want to make sure our visitor stays in one piece, otherwise how will that look to his people?"

"Yes, Dr. Simonson," the nurse replied as the doctor disappeared in a whirl of lab coat and strong cologne. 

Jemma sneezed as he left. She refused to leave Thor alone in Medical, and thus accompanied him down to the techs' haven for the procedure, explaining the entire process in great detail.

"This is a great wonder, Lady Jemma," Thor said, as they arrived at the first x-ray room. "My people have not this exact device, but something similar with which to view the internal workings of the body. Our healers would be fascinated, I'm sure."

The x-ray tech was ready for them in short order, and got Thor placed properly to get the images the doctor wanted. Thor graciously thanked the young man when they were finished, and left with Jemma back to the exam room. The doctor easily and quickly signed off on Thor's continued good health when the images came back clear.

"We have a decent bruise relieving cream for later," Jemma said, as they left Medical to report to Coulson. They found him just leaving the surgical suites and post op.

"Jemma, Thor, everything all right?" he asked, a little anxious, when they closed with him.

"We've been checked out, and Medical is satisfied we have no injuries, Agent Coulson," Jemma informed him. "Agent Barton?" she asked, eyes traveling down the corridor as though to discern his location.

"Still in surgery. They stabilized him long enough for his transformation, now they need to complete the surgery to repair his shoulder," Coulson replied. His shoulders sagged in weariness. He hated it when an OP cost his agents in more than hard work, but such injuries were inevitable. It was good they had excellent medical staff available.

"Well, Clint is in good hands then," Jemma said. She sounded optimistic, but the worry was very present in her eyes and nervously twitching hands. Thor looked on in silence. Unless things changed for the worse, he felt it wasn't his place to offer assistance. The three of them moved on, back to the office level, to begin session designed to breakdown completed missions, be they successes or failures. The debriefing would go over every detail, and reward the agents as necessary, or punish if avoidable errors were made. There were of course, times when missions failed, that had nothing to do with the work the agents managed to accomplish, and the debriefs were the opportunities to set things to rights, in the hope to avoid the problems in the future.

Phil needed to put all the pieces together, the disparate opinions, and the differing view points, to see if they could have avoided having two agents shot, and several others with minor injuries. They were lucky that the mission as a whole had been a success. They had in holding a couple of high ranking members of the cult, and another undergoing surgery at that moment. While he took care of debriefing Thor and Jemma, others were handling their own after-mission care.

Natasha had gotten cleaned up after Medical checked her out, and then gone in search of Steve. She found him in one of the lounges where off duty agents relaxed when they had to remain on base. He was slouched in one of the squashy arm chairs, head tilted back on the backrest. As he was staring at the ceiling, Natasha guessed he wasn't really seeing the acoustic tiles.

"Natasha," he said, barely above a whisper. She acknowledged the lack of warmth with a grunt, and strode across the room to sit on the ottoman nearest Steve's chair.

"Captain," she replied, once she was comfortable on the large ottoman.

"Steve, please,” he insisted, though he didn't move. “We're not in the field, and I'm not sure I have the authority."

"That's not true Steve," Natasha had skimmed the reports written from when Steve had been resuscitated, and found glaring holes in the information he'd been given about the modern age. Aside from not getting a thorough debrief on the secrecy of shifters, he had barely been given enough info to handle a trip to a local shopping mall. "There appears to have been quite a few omissions in what you were told after waking up. I would like to say assumptions were made, since you worked for SHIELD's predecessor, but I can't be sure." She briefly explained some of what was missing, but spent the majority of their discussion, going over SHIELD's work with shapeshifters, and how that had changed, and what was expected now. She watched as Steve went from dejected and downtrodden, to interested and engaged, and promised herself that she'd see about having the agents in charge when he was initially briefed on the modern age brought up on charges of failure to complete their duty.

Nat debated telling Steve about the team he worked with during World War 2, but thought that now, with a renewed sense of purpose, he'd be able to find out on his own in short order.

They kept on talking, Steve asking questions about whatever topic came to mind. Natasha thought it was a pleasant way to spend downtime.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: * - the act of pressing on the gums is to check for bloodflow. Normally, you can't put a blood pressure cuff on an animal, so the reaction of the pink receding and coming back tells a vet/vet tech about how well the heart stays working. If the gums are pale and/or non-reactive, other steps are taken.
> 
> PS - as a reminder, Bruce is a big animal, the biggest on record for this universe. Shifting him via a front loading construction vehicle is the best way, I think.
> 
> AN: Miss me? Yeah, I know. It's been too long. I've got real life issues plaguing me, and NaNo that I half swore I wasn't going to do, until my unfinished one-shots poked at me. So yeah. Then the idea of swapping chapters and months came to me. There's a blog post about that up at my writing journal: http://featheredschist.dreamwidth.org/ You should follow that too, as I'll update there rather than keep with these weird notes.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony finds out how Bruce, really all oversized shifters, are treated when they need special handling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Playing in the sandbox, as always.
> 
> Warnings: description and discussion of an MC being held in essentially a prison, and why, and how they are treated as individuals; another MC 'rides to the rescue'. Another character appears out of character, for reasons explained later. See end notes if you need to.
> 
> Moar lateness. Sorry, it will continue like this for awhile.

Tony Stark had arrived at the temporary base, along with Phil and Natasha, about three hours after the others. He made time to go over the armor, cataloging any damage he might need to repair, he'd joined the two of them to debrief. As soon as he was done and released, Nat dragged him to Medical, citing policy and procedure that everyone got checked over after every mission. They both knew he was fine, but policy was policy. He only grumbled a little.

It also gave them a chance to get an update on Clint's status. Once Natasha had passed on the available information about her fellow agent, she slipped out of Medical to attend Steve.

Tony was made to stay in an exam room while a SHIELD medical team determined if he was in good health. “Hey look, I'm not bleeding, and no one shot at me,” he growled, hands raised to fend off a tech's approach. The tech held some kind of diagnostic tool Tony didn't recognize. And he wanted nothing to do with it. The nurses were also too close. “This is not some half-assed attempt to get a look at my arc reactor?” he growled, defensive in posture that raised the protective instincts of a couple of shifters, but it wasn't until Coulson breezed through that Tony got any surcease.

“Mr. Stark's file explicitly states that he is only to be examined for mission related injuries and not held past the time it takes to stabilize him unless those injuries are life threatening,” Coulson snapped out, a dark frown of rage on his face as he approached the doctor in charge.

“Sir!” the doctor was loathe to admit to any privy orders he may have received on the side about Stark's tech.

“Yeah, no. We're done. Go play with another guinea pig,” Tony had enough, and got up off the gurney. He pulled his band shirt back on over the skin suit he wore under the armor, dulling the shine of the arc reactor. As he stepped past the doctor, he snarled, “When I find out who gave you those orders, rest assured, I will bury you, your staff, and anyone else involved.”

Tony swept out of Medical, pulling his tattered nerves together, and leaving Coulson to deal with the errant medical practitioners. He ended up walking his frustration off, wending his way into the bowels of the building via the stairs. Tony found himself outside a locked hallway. In the distance of the featureless area, he could see SHIELD agents standing guard, rifles leaning against their armored shoulders.

“Hm, and what are we hiding down here?” he whispered, looking over the electronic lock on the door. “JARVIS, you busy?” He spoke aloud, though JARVIS was only present through his cell phone.

“For you sir, never. I take it you wish to be on the other side of this door?”

“Indeed. Also, dig into all the dark corners of this place, see if you can ferret out any and all directives that mention me, the armor, the reactor, and any other combinations,” Tony directed.

“Yes sir. Shall I also go through the rest of SHIELD's databanks?”

“As you see fit.” The electronic lock beeped, the red light changed to green, and Tony pushed on the latch to open the door.

He strode down the hall, thoughts of his bruised pride disappearing as he pulled up the mask of “devil-may-care” touched with a bit of 'yes, I belong here' attitude. No one bothered him, which was different enough to him, given the security to access the area. Tony briefly wondered if the Agents thought he was there to upgrade some random piece of the building's hardware. It wouldn't be out of the ordinary, as part of his consultant gig with SHIELD, he did travel to the occasional base and work on the upgrades he put together.

Unchallenged, he made his way to the end of the hall, where it opened onto a large room, divided in four parts, all glass and steel. They were holding cells, and one was occupied by a huge, brown, furry form he'd last seen a few hours ago. That couldn't be right. Why would the good doctor be held like a specimen in a zoo? He moved closer.

The two armed guards he'd spotted from the entrance stood near that cell quadrant, rifles held in parade rest. Both agents eyed Tony, deep frowns coming over their faces as they tried to figure out what to do about his presence. Tony was pretty sure he wasn't the cause of them. Yet.

“Agents,” he said, voice flat. They didn't twitch. “Why is the good doctor in this aquarium?” he asked, stepping closer. He watched the still shape intently for several minutes before turning his attention to the guarding Agents.

He looked them over, trying to see if there wasn't something he could use to either charm them, or get them to call for backup. Their name badges informed him that the right hand guard was Smithers, and the left was Walken. 

“Agents?” Tony pulled his best frown. “Silent treatment? Okay. Then I'll just pay a visit to our friend over there, and make sure he doesn't need anything,” Tony informed the guards before heading over to the closed door. Direct route it was.

“Mr. Stark,” the female guard, Walken, tried to stop him. She moved directly into his path, making him rock back on his heels.

“Nu-uh,” he responded, shaking his head. He side-stepped around her and continued to the cell, “I'm going in there. If you don't like it, then one of you had better scamper off to find Fury.” Tony's grin was shark like as he dismissed the agents and went to open the metal framed glass door. 

Bruce was still deeply asleep. Probably, Tony thought, still affected by the heavy dose of tranquilizers. He let the door close with a click and walked to where the bear was sprawled on the decking. Now that he was inside, he could see that one of the larger sides of the unit could be rolled away from the lopsided cube to allow large pieces of equipment, or large beings to be moved inside. Tony realized that was how the front loader had moved the inert animal into the building once removed from the scene.

He stopped next to Bruce, and decided to take the opportunity to study the animal the scientist became.

Outside the chamber, the two agents eyed each other, silently trying to decide who would go find a superior to deal with Stark. Smithers huffed once, and checked the safety on his rifle before stowing it before leaving the containment area. Walken stayed and tried not to be worried the bear would wake and try to kill Stark before someone in charge appeared.

Tony saw the agent leave out of the corner of his eye, and hummed in satisfaction. While certainly there was a need to keep people safe, holding a person of such immense ability in what amounted to a cell grated. His own history made such treatment inhumane in his eyes and he refused to be a party to it. He would get to the bottom of this, and didn't really care what Fury might think.

He paced slowly around the spread eagle, and limp form in front of him, taking in all the details he'd not been able to during the mission. Up close, Bruce's size was truly stupendous. He was easily the size of an SVU! And the healthy, golden brown coat of fur made Tony's fingers twitch to run through, gleamed in the overhead fluorescents. The outstretched back paws were pads up, and the surface area alone eclipsed the average hubcap for size. Dark colored claws curved easily the length of one of Tony's long fingered hands. The paw pads, once Tony knelt down to more closely examine them, were well fleshed and the skin surface was good and tough.

Tony knew that the direct information about Bruce's species was limited, being extinct as far as wild animals were concerned, but he did wonder if perhaps there were others like him somewhere in the world.

He stood to go back around to Bruce's head, and sat down on the floor, leaning up against the soft, thickly furred shoulder to wait for one of two things to occur: either Bruce woke up, or Fury arrived. To avoid making a lot of noise, he pulled out his phone, and text with JARVIS about bears and their habits.

  
  


_fancy line insert here_

  


It was an hour before anything else happened. The heretofore quietly breathing mound of fur started twitching under his back. The snuffling and snorting seemed to indicate that perhaps Bruce was coming back to consciousness. Tony stayed where he was, figuring that being so close would keep him protected from an attack if Bruce was disoriented from the tranqs. Lungs began heaving, and then Bruce started coughing. Tony lurched up to his knees, instantly regretting that he hadn't thought to bring anything like water when he made such a foolhardy decision. He spun to look at Bruce, and then bent around to glare out the glass at the guard.

“Hey, Agent Dour,” he snapped at Walken just outside the safety glass. “He needs water.” She ignored him, as her orders, and usual procedure had only been to guard the cell until the doctor had transformed. Then, and only then, could Banner be allowed out.

Tony surged up to his feet when the agent didn't respond. Bruce was definitely coming around, the coughing taking on a harder edge. Tony stalked to the glass wall closest to the guard and raised a fist to bang on the clear material, hoping to get a reaction that way. Before he struck the glass, there was commotion in the single hall that led into the rest of the building.

The corridor flooded with light and a group of people, several of them wearing the white coats of Medical, hustled down to the holding area. Coulson was at the forefront, a deep scowl of banked anger marring his otherwise bland accountant's face. His arms were crossed in front of his jacket, hands fisted tight as he took in the sight before him.

As though Coulson was a breakwater, the rest of the newcomers broke around him and entered the holding area. Several of the white coats chattered as they came around to the cell Tony and Bruce were in. Without waiting for orders, they prepared to enter the cell. Half pulled small instruments from pockets as they got ready to start assessing their patient.

“Agent Walken,” Coulson said to the silent guard, tone cold as he gave out orders. “You are dismissed. Report to the Liaison as soon as you leave here. Doctors, please do what you can. Stark?” Coulson's laser like focus fell on Tony, who'd dropped his hand back to his side as soon as he recognized Coulson. “Are you all right? Dr. Banner didn't hurt you?”

“Peachy keen, Agent. Is there a water bowl, or trough out there? Before Bruce hacks up a lung?” Tony said as the cell's doors opened and several doctors, nurses, and techs joined him and began checking over the coughing bear.

Coulson nodded once, then turned his head to some of the other agents still in the corridor. Ignored, Agent Walken double checked the safety on her rifle, saluted Coulson, and left the containment area. Two agents came striding past Coulson, one carrying a deep, wide mouthed bucket, and the other, several gallons of water.

They hastened to the cell and inside where Bruce struggled to his feet, eyes not quite open. His head swung side to side as he tried to catalog everything around him. The antiseptic scents of Medical identified that personnel. He picked out Stark's scent, but could not find Clint's. 

Tony turned to go back to the bear's side, only to find himself held back by one of the medical personnel. The water bearing agents got close enough to prep the water for Bruce, without him having to move more than a single step. Bruce managed to focus on that new and overpowering scent. Need drove him to moving forward.

The bucket hit the floor with a thud, and the first 2 gallons of water splashed inside. They surrendered the other gallons to a nearby orderly, and left.

Tony watched all of this, including Bruce sticking his muzzle in the half full bucket and noisily begin drinking.

“All right, what gives?” he growled, turning his gaze to the nurse that had stopped him from approaching Bruce.

“Shifters are dangerous when they first wake up from being tranq-ed,” the nurse said, half their attention on the work behind them. Several medical personnel had surrounded Bruce, attempting to figure out if there were any lasting effects from the tranq overdose, and whether he was still in good health after his fight with the Thunderer.

When Bruce lifted his dripping muzzle from the bucket, his brown eyes finally opened and he was able to match the scents to the people. He was uncomfortable with all of the strangers around, no Clint, and the newcomer Stark. He kept swinging his head from side to side, bothered by the buzzing intrusion of the medical personnel.

Bruce began growling, fur bristling up a little around his shoulders, unnerved with so many around him. He shifted on his fore feet, each one briefly flickering out before he pulled them back, as if he was attempting to scratch the ground. The strange medical personnel tried to press closer to work their diagnostics, but only succeeded in drawing out a deep, threatening growl.

Haunches visibly bunched, Bruce looked ready to charge. Tony quickly slipped around the distracted nurse, and hurried to Bruce's side.

“Banner!” he called, trying to grab the bear's attention. “All of you, back off!” he barked at the medical team. Several listened, retreating to the glass walls, faces gone white at the near miss. Others frowned at the interference. No one knew the shifters better than SHIELD personnel, or so several believed. They were dangerously wrong, never having bothered to study animal behavior in regards to the people they needed to care for.

Tony reached out with one hand, unafraid, as Bruce's huge triangle shaped head swung around to meet the new distraction. Lips still lifted in a growl, leaving the sharp teeth partially exposed, Bruce's wet matted muzzle was the first thing Tony touched.

“All right, Yogi,” he said, fingers tightening in the fur. “Behave, everything's fine. We're with SHIELD.” He only hoped he was enough to center the bear, or they were all screwed.

Bruce slowly calmed, Tony having to engage in petting him as though he were an overly large dog. As the medical people moved around the cage, Bruce occasionally let out a grumble, reminding them that he was indeed the animal he looked like.

Tony glared, “Can't you witch doctors wait until he's calm? Or until after he transforms? Coulson!” He was genuinely angry now. These fools, were they looking to get themselves hurt, or killed?

“Yes Stark?” Coulson's voice echoed back. He'd been watching Tony interact with Bruce, cataloging reactions for a report he'd have to write to Fury on this cock-up.

“Call off your dogs, and give a man a chance to wake up!”

“SOP, Stark.” Coulson wondered how far he could push this. He knew, something needed to change.

“Fuck your SOP. I think I know why everybody is dangerous if this is how they are treated!” 

The emotional output with his tone of voice caused Bruce to start growling again, the sound rising and falling in a deep wave of sound. It vibrated through Tony, not quite grating off his bones.

Tony increased the scratching around Bruce's face, and along his jowls, both hands working through the darker fur there. Furled lips relaxed and Bruce's eyes drooped closed at the sensations, even though he continued to growl every time someone twitched. The side benefit of Bruce's relaxing was Tony also relaxing. It was kind of hard to stay angry while petting a huge, barely conscious furball.

Coulson came up to the cell, and waved the medical personnel away. Reluctantly they retreated, the hard headed, more slowly, leaving Tony alone with Bruce. “That was dangerous, Stark.”

“Not if you'd been paying attention. He was awake, and just didn't appreciate the presence of so many strangers. Damn, does SHIELD even know their jobs?” Tony tried to control the volume of his voice, but it went up anyway. Bruce had almost completely relaxed from Tony's nimble fingers rubbing deep in his fur, but he tensed with Tony's renewed anger.

“Yes, the agency gives a damn, Stark. You know nothing,” Coulson was angry now. This test might have gone too far. How dare Stark claim this agency didn't treat its agents properly? The agency had been in place for over 100 years, and Shifters occupied a diverse cross section of positions. He shook his head, leveling his gaze at Stark, bland mask of competence in place.

“I know what I've seen looks an awful lot like slavery, and this?” one hand left Bruce's fur to gesture rudely at the containment cells. “How is this beneficial to Shifters?”

Bruce grunted and reluctantly pulled his head away from Tony. The bear backed away from the man, and shifted, going from 4 paws to 2 feet. The immense size retreated down to a more comfortable 5'10”, crowned with a mop of unruly salt and pepper hair. Once solidly human, Bruce shook himself and stumbled a step or two. His clothes were deeply wrinkled, and out of place on his thick set frame.

Tony crossed the intervening space to catch his arm, and make sure he didn't collapse in a heap on the floor.

“Thank you,” Bruce's voice was very gravelly, a side effect of the roaring he'd done during the fight with the Odinson. "No more yelling, yeah?"

“Come on,” Tony cajoled, tugging gently on the arm he held, wrapping it over his shoulder in support. “Let's get you up to Medical. Birdbrain should be out of surgery.”

“Oh God, Thor. Is he?”

“Right as rain. I think he wants a rematch.”

The duo ignored each and every person in the holding area, and slowly made their way up the hall to an elevator that would take them to the Medical floor.

Coulson grudgingly followed, fuming. He couldn't help but think that perhaps Stark might be the person to prod into Fury's secret project. Maybe. If Stark could keep from pissing off every single senior agent in the process.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * - Coulson is an ass in this, and yes, there is definitely a reason. All things will be revealed in due time, trust me. He's not truly acting out of character. Secrets!
> 
> HIATUS STATUS MESSAGE: 3/1/16 I'm on hiatus right now, dealing with some personal shit that I need a better handle on. Please don't leave comments asking for updates, as it has a negative impact on my depression recovery. Thank you.

**Author's Note:**

> AN: 2/27/16 Bit of a semi-hiatus while I try and work on finishing some stories, and deal with chronic pain issues. Rest assured, the fic will not be abandoned. Thank you for understanding.
> 
>  
> 
> AN: * - Arco is a made up location, but appears to be a street name (after a Google search).
> 
> Ok so this universe is mine, whole cloth/closet, whatever the idea. The only recognizable bits are the fact that these guys are sort of superheroes. As I said in the disclaimer, Bruce did not take that job that led to the creation of the Hulk. But Bruce is a nerdy God in his own right, and I am playing that to the hilt. His intelligence is on par with Tony's, always was; they just work in different areas. Story will reveal their PhDs, I promise, maybe. This is also a threesome, slash fic. My lame attempts at intimate moments will be on display. Go easy on me, please? If you have any questions about the universe I've created, feel free to find me on any of the other social media I belong to. Go to my profile for my various handles. PMs are welcome, as is concrit. Flames are disregarded. If you don't like the pairings, don't read, simple as that.


End file.
